Soul Mate
by USxArthurxKirklandxUK
Summary: AU, USUK. Alfred Jones moves into his new house with his brother Matthew and his recently divorced mother. While exploring the unrepaired sections of the house, Alfred meets someone that will change his life...
1. Chapter 1

Soul Mate

**Summary: AU, USUK. Alfred Jones moves into his new house with his brother Matthew and his recently divorced mother. While exploring the unrepaired sections of the house, Alfred meets someone that will change his life...**

**A/N: I've had this idea for a while and I decided to go ahead with it after being encouraged by Pippin's Socks after leaving a review for her story "Mediator". I've moved away from writing comedy and have gone for more serious stories, as shown by my main projects such as Tainted (Junjou Romantica). I've still kept my sense of humor (as people who have read Fifty Times would tell you), but sometimes I like to write some good serious angst. As such, most of my comedies are sort of... second-class citizens, I suppose, now. I'll still try to update them, but I write what I enjoy, so yeah... Please continue reading and reviewing!**

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"Alfred! Get back here and help your brother!"

"Awe, Mattie's got it!"

"Alfred, I'm gonna fall!"

"Fine, fine..." Alfred grabbed the other end of the heavy box containing most of the family's DVDs, CDs, and games (about eighty percent of that was actually Alfred's). After their mother had left their father a few months ago, the twins had been traveling back and forth between their parents as the custody battle raged. They refused to be separated. Their father lived in California, and their mother had moved to a rural town in Massachusetts about an hour's drive from Boston. In short, their mother had moved as far away from California as she could.

Alfred helped his twin carry the box into the new den, which was currently being used as their storage and sorting room. Alfred helped Matthew lift it onto a pile of miscellaneous junk, and they both went back for another load of boxes or furniture. For the most part, Alfred couldn't blame her. After five years of fighting with her husband behind closed doors, putting on a smile while hiding tears from her two young kids, and taking the emotional abuse, Kimberly Williams-Jones had finally stood up for herself and filed for divorce. All the more power to her.

"All right, that's the last of it," she said as she wiped a hand across her forehead. "All right, boys. Go fight over who gets what room. But," she warned, "be sure to stay where it's safe. This place is old, and not all the floors are safe yet."

Kimberly had bought the old Victorian-style mansion at a ridiculously low price. She planned to fix the place up and either turn it into a boarding house or a bed and breakfast. The house had fifteen bedrooms, about as many bathrooms, and three floors, excluding the bathroom. The paint on the outside was faded, but it was obviously white with green trim, and she knew it would require quite a bit of maintenance. A wraparound porch complete with a bench swing completed the homey feel she was looking for. She'd been shocked when the owner had practically given it to her. Granted, the poor man had looked half scared to death. She had heard locals talk about ghosts in the house, but put it off as a load of rumors and superstition. They did, after all, live in the state the Witch Trials had taken place in.

"Got it," Alfred stated, tramping up the stairs three steps at a time. Matthew followed after him, decidedly more slowly. Matthew picked the first room on the left on the second floor, not caring much. A room was a room. America continued to climb up to the third, and followed the hallway.

"Alfred!" Matthew called after him, looking up the flight. "We're not supposed to be up there!"

"Oh, it's fine. I'm not gonna be jumping up and down or anything," Alfred waved him off. He saw that most of the doors were open, showing covered-up antique furniture. His mother was planning on restoring it. Apparently, it had belonged to the original owners, all the way back in the 1840s or something like that. He noticed that one door was closed, though - the door at the end of the hall was shut tight. Alfred walked down the hall. For the top floor, it was rather cool up here. Usually it was warmer upstairs.

He opened the door, and was greeted by a room that was untouched. The furniture wasn't covered up, as the ancient couches and beds had been in rest of the house had been. An old book was on the bedside table, a bookmark in the middle, as if someone had left it to read for another time. An old pair of shoes lay neatly by the closet. Even a set of clothes were set out. It was as if someone had been in here recently.

Then again, the man they'd bought the place had been living here. This had probably been his room. But why had he left these things behind? Alfred went over to the clothes, picking them up. The cloth was old - ancient, even. And the style was beyond out of date; it looked like something that belonged in a museum. Another antique, maybe? He set it aside, and sat on the hand-sewn green quilt covering the bed. It was soft to the touch, and the bed was comfortable.

The room smelled nice, too. He would have thought it would smell musty, seeing as it had been unused for so long, but it smelled aired and refreshed - it actually reminded him of something like a forest after a rainstorm. He continued looking around the room. It seemed extremely tidy. In the corner was a chest of drawers. When he opened them, all the drawers were empty. Next to that was a table with an assortment of items on it - old candles, a slightly rusted letter opener, yellowed paper, an old pen, and an empty ink well. On the wall opposite it was a mirror. Alfred walked forward, looking at himself in the antique silver frame. He smiled, admiring his reflection.

He saw something move behind him, next the table. He turned fast. Nothing was there. He stared at the table for a few more seconds before passing it off as his over-active imagination.

He walked over to the window, which had a cushioned seat that took up the bay window, drawing open the green drapes. He was now overlooking the entire property - the back yard of it, anyway. It had, at one time, been a garden, though no one remembered what had been planted there, he was sure. He could still see where there had once been flower beds, though all that was left now was a tangle of knotted grasses, weeds, and brambly branches of some kind of dead bush.

The room was considerably comfortable, though the decorating was out of date. Not to mention everything was a shade of emerald, forest, or some other kind of green. Alfred would fix that up with a new comforter and a few posters of his favorite bands, and all would be well with the world. He smiled brightly and went downstairs to grab his boxes of clothes and begin moving into his new room.

~*~*~*~*~

Alfred lay awake in his bed, playing his PSP. He defeated another zombie minion of the Evil Lord Zutor, saved his game, and set it onto the bedside table on top of the book. He'd glanced at it earlier, but thought it looked dull beyond belief - "A Midsummer Night's Dream". When he'd opened it and attempted to read some of it, he'd wondered how anyone had ever made sense of it, and given up without much attempt on his part to continue. He set his glasses next to the game system.

He shut off the light (the electricity here worked, thankfully), and lay back, closing his eyes. He had a long day ahead of him tomorrow - his mother, Matthew, and he were supposed to go into town to get some supplies to begin restoration. He was just on the verge of falling asleep when he heard something fall to the floor. He sat up, struggling to find his glasses in the darkness, and snapped on his bedside lamp.

His PSP lay halfway across the room, and the book was now open to the page the bookmark had been in before he had moved it. The bookmark was back in its original place. Alfred stared at it for a moment, then reached over and slowly closed the book. It was cold. He shuddered a bit, fetched his PSP, and placed it next to the book.

That had been weird. He removed his glasses a second time, pulled the green covers over his head, and tried not to think of horror movies that always started with things like this.

~*~*~*~*~

The next day, Alfred had been up before his brother or mother. He hadn't slept well the night before. That whole book thing was beyond creepy. He was currently cleaning up one of the upstairs rooms, sweeping out the dust and other debris that had found its way into the place over the years. The floorboards creaked underneath him uncertainly, and he wondered just how well kept the building had been. His room was rather sturdy - the floors didn't even creak, like the ones downstairs did.

Alfred stepped back towards the closet, to sweep out the wooden floor in there, as well.

He heard the floor groan, louder than it had been in the main part of the room. He ignored it, sweeping up the dust bunnies and old leaves that had somehow gotten into the room when the windows had been open sometime.

The floor gave another loud groan, and he heard a cracking sound. He stopped for a moment, but when he heard nothing else, he continued his job. The sooner he finished the third floor, the sooner he got to eat lunch. He was humming a random song, sometimes uttering the lyrics under his breath.

The floor underneath him splintered, and Alfred felt his foot go through the floor. He let out a scream, sighing in relief when he only went through do his knee.

"Alfred? You okay up there?" Matthew poked his head in. He had been working on the room across the hall.

"Yeah, fine, my foot just went through the floor... The boards must be rotten."

"I'll go get Mom."

"That'll be--" Alfred heard another heart-stopping creak of a groan, and the floor gave way underneath him. He fell through, and was barely able to see the floor coming up to meet him before his world turned black.

~*~*~*~*~

When Alfred woke up, he wasn't in the house. In fact, he wasn't anywhere he recognized. He would have expected to wake up in a hospital or something, but this was beyond weird. Even weirder than the whole book fiasco.

He looked around himself, taking in the scenery. He was in a garden. He was surrounded by rose bushes in full bloom, under a tall tree. A fountain was a few feet in front of him. Looking into the water was a boy, about his age, who was gazing into the water. He had blonde hair, a few shades brighter than his own, and unusually large eyebrows, though it didn't necessarily look bad. He was wearing stuffy clothing - a long sleeved button-up shirt, a plain pair of black pants, and a blue-green sweater vest. He had eyes that were a deep emerald, with a thoughtful look. His mouth seemed permanently drawn into a frown, his eyebrows furrowed slightly.

The boy looked up, then towards him. He stared at him for a moment. "...You shouldn't be here," he stated plainly. He had a British accent. Not one of those fake Hollywood accents that were used for comedic or dramatic purposes, but a real one. The accent suited him, actually.

Alfred stared at him. Well that had been rude. "What do you mean, I shouldn't be here?"

"Leave," the blonde boy responded, eyebrows furrowing further. He stood, his hands clenching into fists and unclenching, over and over.

Alfred looked confused. "What do you mean, leave? I don't even know where I am."

"Not here," the boy scoffed, shaking his head. "My house! Leave it alone!"

"Your house...?"

"You, that woman, and the other boy - I want you out!" the boy said, his knuckles on his clenched hands turning white.

"Hey, look, calm down," Alfred said, holding his hands up. "I have no idea what you're talking about--"

The boy stepped forward, anger in his green eyes. "None of you understand," he hissed. "None of you can just leave me alone!" He brought back a hand, snapping it forward towards Alfred's head in a surprisingly well-controlled punch.

Alfred had been in a few fights before. He knew how to handle himself. His arm came up before he really calculated the movement, his hand closing around the wrist of the green-eyed boy.

Something happened.

All of a sudden, he wasn't standing there, holding the boy's wrist as he blocked a punch.

He was seeing images from someone else's point of view. Knowing things that he had no way of knowing. Arthur. The boy's name was Arthur - Arthur Kirkland. He was seventeen, and he had been born in April of 1825 in London, England. He liked tea, the sea, and books, particularly poetry and Shakespeare. He'd been left at a boarding school by his mother and father when they had gone across the pond to take care of his business over here. Arthur himself had come across to America when he was fourteen, just to find that his mother had died a few months earlier and his father had remarried without bothering to inform him.

He'd been able to see strange - _things_ - since he was very young. He'd spent a bit of time in an asylum here in America when he'd tried to explain this to his father. He'd figured out that pretending he didn't see the things he did was the only way to be considered sane, the only way to be 'normal' in the eyes of others.

A few days after he had turned seventeen, he'd met a man. Someone who believed him about the fairies, about the will'o'the'wisps, about the ghosts. He'd learned from him. He'd learned how to control his Sight. What sorts of fae were friendly, and what sorts weren't. He'd trusted the man completely, even had some kind of connection with him - this man was the father he'd always wanted. And then came his Betrayal--

"GET OUT!"

Alfred felt as if he'd been socked. Something physical barred him from seeing what had happened. He was thrown back into his body, and was looking down at a pale, wide-eyed Arthur. Tears were streaming down the pale Briton's cheeks. He fought against the urge to wipe away those tears, but lost miserably, running a thumb across his cheeks. He felt nothing but tenderness towards this boy. "Arthur, it's okay."

"Shut up, Alfred," Arthur hissed. The strange occurrence must have been two-way. But Alfred had nothing to hide, and he was rather sure that Arthur knew everything about him.

"I won't see anything that you don't want me to," Alfred promised, shaking his head. "Do you have any idea what that was?"

"None," Arthur said, shaking his head. He was beginning to calm down. For someone who saw fairies and unicorns, he was surprisingly level-headed.

Alfred watched as Arthur put on a thoughtful look, trying to figure out what could have possibly triggered the strange exchange of memories that had just taken place. Arthur perched himself on the fountain's lip. "Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"You know, you really should go back," Arthur said quietly. "If you stay here too long, you'll become stuck here. You won't be able to go back."

"But where is this place?"

"The In-Between," Arthur said, shrugging. "According to what your memories told me, you're having a near-death experience, as they call it in your time period."

"I'm DEAD?" Alfred yelled loudly.

"No, just nearly," Arthur corrected.

"Then what about you? You're obviously not nearly dead! If you were, you'd be ancient!"

Arthur pursed his lip, a slight flash of anger going through his eyes. "I can't move on to Heaven. I don't know why. Unfinished business in the Human World, I suppose."

"Unfinished business...? You died when you were seventeen, right? That'd mean you've had this unfinished business stuff for over a hundred years. What gives? Aren't you trying to move on?"

"I can't fix it if I don't know what's broken," Arthur snapped.

Alfred held up his hands in a position that clearly said "I'm sorry, geesh".

Arthur froze. "...Your brother's calling for you."

"Wha?"

"Come on." Arthur grabbed Alfred's hand, and Alfred steeled himself, waiting for another rush of memories. When it didn't happen, he was slightly surprised, but followed after him. Arthur led him towards a house at the far end of the garden. A Victorian mansion, with a rose garden out back, stretching out over acres. A maze of tall rose bushes surrounded the fountain in the middle. The house was painted white with green trim, with a wraparound porch and swing bench.

"That's--"

"The Garden," Arthur said simply.

Off in the distance, Alfred could hear someone calling his name. The closer they got to the house, the louder the voice got, until Alfred could recognize his brother's voice. "That's Matt." Arthur opened the front door to the house, and Matthew's voice grew louder still. Behind the door was something Alfred could only describe as pure light.

~*~*~*~

Alfred opened his eyes, and saw his brother looking down at him, a worried expression in his violet eyes. "Alfred! Can you hear me?"

"Matt?"

"Thank God," Matthew said, looking relieved. "Mom! He's awake!"

"All right, keep him talking, Mattie!" Alfred could hear his mother call back. "Keep him conscious until the ambulance gets here!"

"I'm fine, Mattie," Alfred assured his brother, sitting up.

The normally passive boy put his hands on his older twin's shoulders, forcing him back down. "Lay down, Al. At least until the paramedics give you the okay. You might have messed up your back. You feel a whole floor."

Alfred sighed, but obeyed his brother. A few minutes later, a group of medics tramped in. They carefully turned Alfred onto the stretcher, strapped him down, and put on an extremely uncomfortable neck brace. "Aren't you going overboard?" he complained. He hated being unable to see anything other than what was directly above him.

"If you have a back injury, we have to make sure we move you as little as possible," one of the paramedics explained quickly, smiling down at him. "Just hold on now, okay? What's your name, buddy?"

"Alfred," he said, closing his eyes. This was one of those idiots in the medical field that always treated him like a kid because he wasn't over eighteen.

"Well then, Al... Is it okay if I call you Al?" Alfred really didn't care. He stared up at him, knowing he'd call him that anyways. "We're going to load you up into the ambulance, and take you to the hospital. We'll take some x-rays, and then we'll let you know where we'll go from there."

"Uh-huh." Alfred glowered up at the ceiling, expecting this to be a long day.

Green eyes watched on. Their unseen owner fought down a feeling of concern, even worry.

~*~*~*~*~

Alfred yawned, lying back carefully in his bed. His back was rather tender, but other than a few aches, he wasn't hurt. His doctor had proclaimed that he didn't have any broken bones, and was lucky. He was advised to avoid heavy lifting for about two weeks, so his mother had taken over his carrying jobs. Alfred knew he could get them done in half the time his brother and mother could, but knew better than to argue with his mother.

His father had been informed, but hadn't bothered to call to ask if Alfred was all right, much to his mother's irritation. She'd called him three times, and had only gotten his machine each time. Needless to say, she wasn't a happy camper at the moment.

"How are you feeling? Did the physician say you were going to be all right?"

Alfred's eyes snapped open, and he fumbled for his glasses.

Arthur was sitting on the bay window seat, his knees drawn up. His green eyes looked worried, and a little afraid.

"I'm... fine," Alfred bit out, gulping.

He could see through Arthur. Oh God. He hadn't thought about it, but Arthur was a ghost. A friggen _ghost_, of all things--

"Good." Arthur looked relieved. He looked out the window, silent.

"Why are you in my room?" Alfred asked.

"That's my line," Arthur replied easily.

"This was... your room?"

"Yes," Arthur stated blandly. "Until you so rudely pinned up those God-awful paintings."

"Hey! I like my posters!"

"Hn." Arthur didn't say anything else, continuing to look out the window.

"You were here earlier, weren't you? Last night. You moved that book."

"You lost my place."

Alfred blinked. "How did you...? I didn't see you then."

"Most people can't," Arthur stated, shrugging. "I can only... do things... when I'm really mad. I haven't moved anything, or been seen, or anything... for years. Sometimes people could hear me, but they never understood me."

"Hear you?"

"The last man tried to have a priest get rid of me," Arthur said, snorting a bit. "He refused to believe that I wasn't a demon, or an evil spirit of some sort."

"Do you know why you're here? What you have to do to go to Heaven?"

"No. I told you. I can't fix what I don't know is broken." Arthur smiled wryly. "Perhaps the insane turn into ghosts. They have to watch people continue living, destroying their old lives... It's almost enough to make one lose his mind."

"I heard they were going to demolish the house before my mom bought it," Alfred said.

"Exactly. If that happened... I don't know what would have happened to me. I can't leave this place. I tried. I wanted to go back to London. To go home." Arthur shuddered. "I always hated it here. After I died, I guess..." Arthur stopped, leaving his thought unfinished.

There was a long pause. "How did you die?" Alfred asked quietly.

Arthur turned towards him, eyes flaming. "I'm not going to talk to a stranger about that."

"We're strangers?" Alfred asked dryly. "After we've both seen all of each other's pasts? Well, me, not so much, considering you hid some of it--"

"You'd hide it, too," Arthur hissed. His eyes seemed to be glowing, like a cat's, throwing all the light they absorbed from the darkness back at it. "We know each other's pasts, we know who we both are. But I haven't even known you for a day. Why the hell should I care about you? Why should I care if you die or live? Why the HELL did I help you? Why did I worry about you?" Arthur was ranting now, his voice rising with each question, tone hysterical. A few books from Alfred's bookshelf flew off the shelf, landing heavily on the floor. Arthur didn't so much as wince - it was obviously his doing.

"You're going to wake up my brother," Alfred stated, whispering loudly.

Arthur laughed. "They can't HEAR me," he scoffed. "You're the only one who ever could. Others heard whispers, sometimes crying if I was upset... Though that was all when my family still lived here. Those who knew me. And now you're the only one - the only person in over a hundred years - that can see me."

Alfred watched as Arthur breathed heavily for a few moments, the dead boy's chest rising and falling with each pant. The dead boy looked back out the window. His eyes were wet, though he stubbornly refused to allow the tears to fall. "I'm so tired. I've been here for nearly a hundred and seventy years, Alfred. I want to move on."

"Then I'll help you," Alfred said, before he was able to think of the words coming out of his mouth.

Arthur looked towards him. "What did you say?"

"I said I'd help you," Alfred said. He wasn't too keen on the fact that Arthur was dead, but it wasn't like the poor guy could help it. "I'll help you find Heaven. Or help you rest in peace, or whatever."

"You'll help me find peace," Arthur stated dryly. "Right."

"I will!" Alfred insisted. "All right, fine. Tell me what you need to fix."

"For starters, you lot could get the hell out of my house."

"Next on the list," Alfred stated without a pause.

"Rebuild my Garden," Arthur stated.

"That old thing in the backyard? No one knows what it looked like, though," Alfred complained.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Arthur shrugged. "I can tell you what goes where."

"All right, find, there's one of your three wishes," Alfred stated sarcastically.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "All right, genie, for my second wish, I want my house restored. But with no more of this poppycock 'modern furnishings' that idiot owner in the eighties tried to bring in. Original furnishings."

"Mom wanted to do that, anyways. She wants to turn this place into a bed and breakfast."

"I'll let that slide," Arthur sighed.

"Anything else?"

"I'll tell you when I think of something," Arthur shrugged. "It'll take a while for you to get the Garden up, anyways."

"About that. Why are you acting like the garden's so important?"

"I grew it myself," Arthur stated. "And besides that, The Garden was - is - the name of the estate."

"The Garden..." Alfred tested out the name, liking the sound of it. "I'll be sure to tell Mom that. We were trying to think of names for it, if we made it into a hotel. It sounds really homey."

"Then keep the name, as well," Arthur said. A faint smile came to the Brit's face. "And Alfred... I know I've been a horrible host. Thank you for helping me."

"You're welcome, Dead Kid."

"Watch it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Soul Mate**

**A/N: I'm actually rather surprised how much positive feedback I've gotten for this one. XD I wasn't sure how well an AU Hetalia story would be taken, but it appears to have drawn a few readers after only being up for a short amount of time (also, oddly, I didn't think I was a very good writer, and yet I have people e-mailing and PMing me, complaining about my horrible updating... I apologize for that, by the way).**

**Also, to see a more complete family tree of Arthur's family, please look at the bottom of the page in the bold Author's Note. As there are lots of marriages, kids, etc. to keep track of.**

**I'm going to give you fair warning. As would be expected by this story type, later on, this story will probably get pretty heavy on spiritual beliefs. Keep in mind that I in no way, shape, or form, mean to offend anyone with my writing, and it is purely for entertainment purposes.**

**This chapter's dedicated to my first few reviewers - Allykat001, sasodei-iz-awesome, Hinata Uzumaki-sama, LolliDictator, Iaveina, Lady Scribetracker, ninjafox369, and Mech 4869. I hope you'll continue to enjoy reading Soul Mate!**

**Also, my Gaelic sucks. XD Please forgive it. If someone speaks it and would like to correct the two words of Gaelic in the entire chapter, it would be welcome.**

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**Chapter Two**

As he had been banned by both the doctor and his family from any heavy lifting, Alfred was currently making himself useful in other ways - by starting up on the restoration of the old furniture. Most of it was still in beautiful shape, only needing a fresh coat of stain to renew the luster the dark oak had.

Arthur looked on, as if out of place.

"What's wrong?" Alfred asked, applying another coat to one of the dressers in one of the bedrooms. Arthur had informed him that it had once been their maid's room.

"...I wish I could do something to help. I don't like just watching you work."

"You're keeping me company, aren't you?" Alfred smiled, standing up from his work. "Finished in this one... I think Mom's going to have to pay a fortune for mattresses for each of these, though," he admitted. "There has to be like... thirty beds in this place."

Arthur leaned back against the wall. "Part of owning an Inn. People would probably pay more to stay in an authentic Victorian-Era home," he pointed out. "There's a lot of history here, after all."

"What, a slave revolt?" Alfred laughed. With how old Arthur was, he wouldn't be surprised if he had owned a slave himself, though Massachusetts had really never been known as one of the 'slave states' like Louisiana or Georgia.

Arthur frowned with distaste. "My father didn't care about it one way or another, but preferred servants. Less chance of a revolt, and they were generally more pleasant... As for me, I had always been an abolitionist. I found it absolutely disgusting that people would ever enslave a fellow human being."

Alfred raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Cool! Were you ever at an abolitionist convention or something like that?"

"I died before most of the Abolitionist Movement," Arthur pointed out.

"Still," Alfred shrugged, smiling. Man, Arthur was old. He was ancient, even - and the teen even acted and dressed like an old man. He laughed at that thought.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Something funny?"

"You. You're like a grandpa who took over his grandkid's body. Even your _name_ sounds old," Alfred laughed, trying his best to hold in the worst of his laughing.

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed in irritating. "Oh, shut up and get to work," he stated, glaring at him with the same green eyes as a cat that has had quite enough of his owner's annoying showers of affection and baby voices.

"Fine, fine, old man, you got it."

Arthur cocked an eyebrow. "And I don't know of many people naming their children _Alfred_ nowadays. You can hardly talk," he said wryly, smirking. The cocky smirk on Arthur's face made him look younger - more mischievous, even impish.

America, feeling flushed, shut up.

~*~*~*~*~

Arthur had to admit, if there was one thing Alfred was good at, it had to be lifting an ungodly amount of weight. The teen was now ignoring the doctor's orders and moving around heavy boxes in his room, hefting them into the top shelf in the closet, shoving them under the bed, setting them in the corner to be sorted through later.

Arthur knelt down next to one of the few opened cardboard containers, peering at the top layer of smaller boxes in it. Quite a few titles looked back up at him - and quite a few were labeled "Final Fantasy"; the teen seemed to have quite a few. Arthur assumed they came in a series, marked from the first to Roman numeral thirteen, which was still wrapped in plastic.

Arthur reached down, frowning a bit when his hand went through the containers inside. Sometimes, he really hated being dead.

"Oh, those are my games," Alfred smiles, kneeling down next to him. "Which one did you want to see?"

"Games?"

"For on the TV," Alfred explained. "Wait... you know what a TV is, right?"

"I'm dead, not blind, deaf, and dumb," Arthur replied sarcastically.

"Well, anyways, you just control the people's movements on the screen... Make them do stuff, fight monsters, the like."

Arthur shook his head. "_Tsk_. What happened to a good game of chess?"

"Died with the times, love," Alfred responded in a fake British accent, smiling back at the irritable teen. Arthur stared at him for a few seconds before a small smile broke his scowl. "See? You smiled!" Alfred laughed.

"Just because you looked ridiculous," Arthur stated blandly, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, you Yankees always confused me."

Alfred laughed, and began to explain more about video games to Arthur.

~*~*~*~

Alfred and the rest of his family were currently enjoying breakfast. Arthur was in the corner, unseen by two of the family members. Arthur noted how the main conversing in the family was between Alfred and his mother. Matthew seemed to prefer to meld into the background, and even Arthur sometimes forgot he was there. The younger twin seemed to simply blend in with his surroundings, keep quiet, and prefer it that way. He was the polar opposite of his older brother, who seemed to prefer to be in the spotlight, and was loud and slightly obnoxious (in a cute way, Arthur though, though he then mentally berated himself for even thinking that about the idiot American).

The phone, which Alfred's mother had set up earlier that morning, rang. Arthur watched as Matthew stood up, picking up the phone quietly. "Hello?"

There was a pause, and then Matthew's usual slight smile, a smaller version of his older brother's constant grin, disappeared. "Oh... Um, we're just eating breakfast. You want to talk to Mom?" There was another pause. "Oh, you called to talk to me and Alfred?" he asked. While his voice was neutral, his face said he obviously didn't believe it. Matthew made small-talk with the person on the other line for a few minutes before handing the phone over to Alfred.

The normally bubbly blonde was now somber, licking his lips before greeting the other person. "Hey, Dad." Arthur winced. He remembered Alfred's relationship with his father from the memory-swapping instance. It was anything but happy. It reminded him of how his own relationship with his father had been. "...Nothing much. I'm feeling okay. You know how it is - nothing keeps me down for long," he said, attempting to laugh; it came out hollow and fake-sounding to Arthur's ears. "We've started renovating the house Mom bought... It's this old mansion out in Massachusetts," he said off-handedly. "Called The Garden, from some old papers I found." Arthur was glad that he'd remembered where there were some old envelopes with the original name of the place on it, and had shown them to Alfred.

There was another pause. "Oh, you're gonna come visit in a few months?" Alfred tried to sound excited, but failed. He wasn't a very good actor. "Sounds awesome. We'll see you in July, then?" he asked. It was currently middle to late May, so there was still quite the gap between now and his father's visit. Enough time for his father to think of an excuse for not coming.

~*~*~*~

Alfred followed Arthur through the grounds. He'd picked out his mother's gardening tools, from their old garden back in California, from their boxes, though he wasn't sure what to do with half of them. Arthur seemed to know what he was doing, however, and led him to one of the old flower beds. Alfred set the wheelbarrow full of assorted shovels, trowels, a large and heavy-looking pair of shears, and other gardening devices he couldn't name. "You'll want to put the gloves on," Arthur said off-handedly. "It would hurt like hell if the thorns cut you."

"Thorns?" Now Alfred knew why Arthur had made him wear long sleeves.

"Yes," Arthur said off-handedly, examining the different tools, looking for something in particular. "They're rose bushes."

"Roses?" Alfred knelt down, tugging at some of the dead brambles. "Well, they're pretty dead for rose bushes..."

"They're not dead," Arthur replied testily. He pointed to the large pair of scissors, gesturing for the American to pick them up, as he was unable to. "All right, pick those up, and cut where I show you." Alfred picked up the tool, and watched as Arthur pointed to different parts of the stems. They all looked the same to him, but he could be wrong.

The closer he got to the ground, the thicker the stems. And after a while, they became harder to cut. "Hey, what gives? It's green inside..."

"It's alive," Arthur replied, smiling slightly. "Pull away the dead branches. Toss them in a pile... You can burn them later, or haul them away."

This process went on for quite some time, repeating itself. Arthur would point to where Alfred should cut, Alfred would haul away dead branches, and they would be left with a small, barely-there bush stub with no branches or leaves. Arthur assured Alfred that the bushes would grow fast - that he'd bred this strain himself, from Oriental tea roses and the forerunners of the 'English roses', whatever those were. Alfred wasn't much for gardening, as he admitted to Arthur.

Arthur smiled lightly. "I wasn't, really. But I feel in love with roses... A red rose is the national flower of England. Did you know that?" Alfred shook his head. He didn't know a thing about England, other than the food there was supposed to be terrible and they talked with an overly-obvious accent. "It's the national flower of America, as well, but..." Arthur knelt down, his hand hovering just a few millimeters from one of the bushes. "Every time I came into my garden and took care of them, I was reminded of home."

Alfred knelt down as well, looking at the poor, scraggly creature he had so unjustly mangled. "Are you sure it was a good idea to cut off all those branches like that?"

"They were dead," Arthur shrugged. "I haven't been able to prune these since I died. And Father never cared about them... He rarely came home, anyways, so I was given pretty much free reign over the house."

They continued their work. Alfred felt that this was quite the workout - he was actually working up a sweat. He never knew that gardening was such a big job. Then again, the 'garden' in their last home had been a bunch of pre-grown potted plants his mother had transplanted into the ground. Most of them hadn't lived long. Arthur had grown these from the start, growing them into the seven-foot hedges Alfred had seen in the In-Between.

The In-Between, Arthur explained, was different for each person - or, at least, that was what he had gathered from his days in the house. Others had died in the house since his death - his stepmother, his nephew, his brothers (Arthur wouldn't tell Alfred much about his family; he assumed the memories were difficult for the Briton to talk about). But he hadn't met any of them in his own In-Between. Arthur's particular In-Between was the house as he had known it - freshly painted, its rose garden maze in full bloom, and the lawn well-manicured and green under Arthur's loving care. Arthur had said, rather sheepishly, that his In-Between was how The Garden had looked on the day he had died. He hadn't said anything else.

Alfred had no idea why he had gone to Arthur's In-Between, rather than his own.

Alfred finished one row of bushes, and moved onto the next. The maze was large, but most of The Garden was gone - sold to land developers over the years, used as Farmland. But Arthur hadn't minded that - so long as at least some of the bushes survived, his project could live on. "So, did you ever come up with a name for these guys?" Alfred asked, finishing another bush. Sadly, this row seemed to be doing poorly when compared to the first. Arthur had declared the first two bushes completely dead, and Alfred had been forced to dig the poor things up.

"My older half-sister called them 'Mioscaiseach Grá'," Arthur said, smiling lightly. "It means 'Wicked Love'."

"You had a half-sister?"

"Yes. There were five of us," Arthur explained. "Duff was the oldest, from Father's first marriage. His first wife died in childbirth. Fiona - the one who named the roses - and Patrick were twins - Patrick was older by a few minutes. The two of them always argued about it." Arthur laughed a bit. "They were from Father's Second marriage. She and Father got a divorce. The third marriage was the shortest, but Delwyn came from it."

Alfred snorted through his nose. "Delwyn?"

"His mother was Welsh, and very traditional," Arthur chuckled. "After that, it was my mother." The green-eyed teen got a far-away look in his eyes. "She was... beautiful. Absolutely beautiful."

Alfred watched as Arthur seemed to drift off mentally momentarily. After a while, he snapped back to attention. "Ah, but that's ancient history to you," he laughed.

"Nah, I'm interested," Alfred said truthfully. "Your dad got married again after your mom died, right? What was she like?"

"Belinda..." Arthur's mouth pulled itself into a small frown. "Well, she wasn't particularly good or bad. We let each other alone. Though I hated Peter at first."

"Peter?"

"My little half-brother. He was about four when I died, so I didn't really get to know him very well. Besides, by the time I got over here, he had already been born."

"How long did your dad go without telling you your mom had died?" Alfred asked tentatively.

"A year," Arthur said bitterly. "He was used to his wives dying, divorcing, and so on... He didn't see a reason to distract me from my studies. The same went for Duff." Arthur let out a short bark of a laugh. "At least she got a nice burial. Fiona told me all about it when I heard about it."

Alfred winced. That was beyond harsh. To be unable to go to your own mother's funeral - that had to be terrible. And it sounded like Arthur had adored his mother. "Sounds like you at least got along with Fiona," he said, looking for the silver lining.

Arthur shrugged. "Fiona and I were very alike," he admitted. "I was considered a loon because of what I claimed to see as a child, and she was considered bad luck because she was the second-born twin. We both had problems, so we looked to each other. She had Patrick, as well... He adored her, even if they were forever arguing."

"And you didn't have anyone else?"

Arthur smiled faintly. "Not at first, no... But I met someone, eventually."

"What were they like?"

Arthur stayed silent. "...I don't remember," he said after a moment.

"You don't remember?" Alfred asked incredulously. "What about his name?" Arthur shook his head. Alfred stared. This person could hardly have been so important if Arthur couldn't even remember his name.

"...I want to, don't get me wrong," Arthur scoffed. "But... when I get close to remembering his name, his face... it goes blank. I know what we did together, I know he existed... But I can't remember his face or his name." Alfred watched as Arthur sat down on the ground, his hands on his knees, and his chin on top of his interlaced fingers. "I remember that, at the time, he was the most important person in the world to me..."

Alfred felt a twinge in his chest at that. Jealousy? Why would he be jealous of something that stupid? "What... sorts of things did you do together?"

"He taught me about the Fae, among other things," Arthur shrugged. He didn't know why he was opening up to Alfred like this, but it felt good to be able to talk about it, to get it off his chest.

"What are those?" Alfred asked.

"It's a traditional name for a race of fairies," Arthur explained simply. "They're considered one of the most beautiful... They normally look completely human. Some can control their shape: take on the appearance of another person, shape shift, all that sort of thing. They can wield magic, they're immortal save for illness or a mortal wound..." Arthur smiled a bit. "They can almost be human. But they're different... They can never be human. They're too powerful, too... I don't know the word for it, I suppose," he said, sighing.

"But what's the big deal? They're immortal; they have magic powers, all that jazz..."

"You sound like you believe me." Arthur's lips curved up into a wry smile.

"Well, if _you're_ here, then _anything's_ possible," Alfred pointed out.

"True. The thing is, Alfred, not everyone can see them. The Fae, I mean. If you can, it's considered a gift... Or a curse, depending on your outlook..." Arthur was quiet for a moment. "The Fae and humans can't truly be close friends, though. Our life spans are just too different."

"But you were friends with some of them, right?" Alfred asked, remembering something about Arthur and a small group of what he had then grouped as mythical creatures - a few fairies, a pixie, small balls of light (will'o'the'wisps, as Arthur's memory called them), and others.

"A few, yes," Arthur said, nodding. "They knew I was lonely. It was more of a... pity thing, than anything else," he shrugged. "Granted, we did enjoy each other's company, but in the end, I was still alone."

"Hm." Alfred half-heartedly poked at one of the nearby rosebushes. "Well... it's okay now, right?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?" Alfred smiled at Arthur widely. "So you're not alone anymore."

Arthur stared at him, green eyes wide, for an amount of time. Then, he smiled - though it was so small, Alfred almost missed it. "You're right... I'm not alone anymore."

-----------------

**A/N: And here would be Arthur's family tree! ...More of a list, but whatever. XD**

**Father: William Kirkland (English)**

**~First Marriage~**

**First Wife: Beitris (Scottish)**

**First Son: Duff**

**~Second Marriage~**

**Second Wife: Moira (Irish)**

**Second Son: Patrick**

**First Daughter: Fiona**

**~Third Marriage~**

**Third Wife: Ceridwen (Welsh)**

**Third Son: Delwyn**

**~Fourth Marriage~**

**Fourth Wife: Alice (English)**

**Fourth Son: Arthur**

**~Fifth Marriage~**

**Fifth Wife: Belinda (English)**

**Fifth Son: Peter**


	3. Chapter 3

**Soul Mate**

**A/N: All right... As of now, this story is completed UNBeta-ed. If anyone would be interested in becoming my Beta for Soul Mate (or Fifty Times), please PM me! (I'm really not pressing hard for this, so if you don't really want to, don't force yourself.) If possible, I would prefer to be able to talk with my Beta over IM as well (I have MSN and Yahoo!).**

**I'm also having trouble coming up with a name for Alfred's father. If anyone has an idea, I'd really appreciate it! I'm looking for something that could be considered classical/old fashioned or a little unusual, but not completely 'out there'. Names, along with their meanings if possible, are welcome in reviews, PMs, etc. As an added bonus, I'll do a request for the reviewer who suggests the winning name (the only restriction is the fact that I have seen the series)!**

**Also, I'll do a request for the first reviewer to point out the significance in the direction Arthur is drawn to!**

**Please enjoy chapter three of Soul Mate!**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Alfred watched as the dead branches of Arthur's rose bushes burned, throwing heat across his body. Though it was nearing the beginning of summer, the nights were still a little nippy, and the fire's warmth was a welcome relief to his chilled limbs.

Arthur was somewhere nearby, wandering - seemingly pointlessly. He kept going in the same general direction - Northeast. He eventually always backtracked, returning to the fire, but seemed drawn in that direction for some reason. Neither of them said anything about it the first few times it happened, before Alfred spoke up: "Is something wrong?"

"No... No, I don't think so."

"What's over there? A hidden room under the sod?" Alfred asked, laughing a bit.

"No," Arthur replied, rolling his eyes. "The closest thing to a 'secret room' was the Cage."

"The Cage?"

"I had a hiding place near the center of the maze," Arthur explained, shrugging. "It was a small... well, I don't know how to explain it... It was a room, basically. The walls and ceilings were made from the rose bushes surrounding it. You could only get to it through a hidden door. I was the only one who knew about it, which was what it was intended for when I built it. It's shaped a bit like a birdcage, thus, the Cage."

"Near the fountain, right?"

"Yes," Arthur nodded. "Hidden in plain sight." He laughed a bit. "I could disappear for hours, and my family never knew where I went..."

"You sound like you enjoyed being alone."

"I'd rather be alone than be forced to see my father viewing me like a freak. Besides, I had the Fae..."

Alfred looked towards Arthur, who was gazing up at the sky forlornly. "But you were lonely - you wanted human companionship. Why didn't you trust your family?"

Arthur stayed silent for a moment before replying, in a whisper: "I don't really remember... But I think I wanted something they couldn't give me."

Alfred stared hard at the flames in front of him. "You don't remember a lot, you know that? Maybe you really are an old man. You're certainly senile enough."

Arthur's head snapped to his left to stare at Alfred in annoyance, his eyebrow twitching in annoyance as it always did. "Well what the hell do you know? Bloody Yankee!"

Alfred laughed, looking at Arthur with sparkling blue eyes. "That's the Arthur I like." Arthur looked at him, confusion plain on his face. "The Arthur who smiles and gets riled up, gets angry... I like it more than the one who gets that lonely look in his eyes. It makes me feel helpless."

"Why the hell would you?" Arthur asked irritably, a light dusting of pink covering his cheeks. "It's not like you have a reason to feel indebted to help me."

"I want to," Alfred shrugged. "And... it hurts when I see you looking so hurt. When you feel like you're all alone, and there's no one there to help you. You may have had to wait almost two centuries, but I'm here now. I said it before: you're not alone anymore."

Arthur nodded, the movement barely noticeable. He moved closer to the live teen. In front of them, the fire crackled, running low on fuel. Alfred tossed the next batch of rose branches onto it.

* * *

"Arthur?" Alfred looked around his room, confused. Where the heck had he gone? He was ready to continue working on the garden, already having finished the restoration chores for the day (finish the beds on the top floor, and finish unpacking his own things and moving into his - Arthur's - room). But he'd looked all over the house, and couldn't find him anywhere.

It wasn't as if he could continue work on it without him - he had no idea how to tell if the bushes were dead or alive, where to cut, or, in most cases, if the bushes even were still clinging to life. The entire backyard was a tangled mess of grass and brambles, which all looked the same to him.

Sighing, Alfred plopped himself down on the comforter - the same green one that had been on the bed originally. He found that he preferred Arthur's soft, comfortable quilt to the slightly scratchy comforter his mother had picked up at a discount store a few years previously. The deep green color also reminded him of Arthur's eyes, which was, in an odd way, comforting. Alfred was coming to love Arthur's eyes - they were so expressive, the liveliest part about the dead teen.

Alfred closed his eyes, deciding that a light nap before lunch and yard work wouldn't be a bad idea. Downstairs, he heard his brother and mother putting away kitchen supplies. Matthew yelped as he dropped something, and half a second later, there was a loud crash as a multitude of pans fell to the hardwood floor. The sounds of his family moving into their new home lulled Alfred into a comfortable sleep.

Alfred woke up nearly instantly. The house was completely silent, which was beyond weird. He got up, following the hallway to the stairs. He followed them down, stopping at the last landing. He didn't hear his mother or Matthew in the kitchen. Where were they? When he turned around the corner, he noticed something else about the kitchen - the modern appliances were gone. Instead, a wood-burning stove was where the gas range should be, a pile of wood where the refrigerator was supposed to be. Alfred's eyebrows knitted themselves together, and he looked out the window. He could see tall hedges, bursting with deep red blooms.

He stepped out the door, unbelieving. He was back in Arthur's In-Between? He wandered down the rows of roses, looking around. This was definitely the place he had visited when he'd had that near-death experience.

He found himself in front of the fountain again, and stopped, peering into the water. A few fish swam lazily about, basking in the never-changing weather - partly cloudy, but sunny.

Arthur said that his special hiding place had been near the fountain, hadn't he? Alfred looked around for it for a few minutes, peeking behind bushes. Hidden in plain sight - that's what Arthur had said.

Alfred stopped, nearing a small statue - a fairy woman, holding the hand of a small boy, leading him - pointing the way... Alfred followed her beckoning hand, and noticed a small, irregular patch of flowers. He stepped closer, carefully brushing away branches. A small handle appeared from behind it, and Alfred could make out the outline of a door when he looked harder.

Alfred gently tugged on the small wooden structure, and it fell back easily - it wasn't locked, as Alfred expected. Alfred ducked under the thorny pass, walking forward a few feet through the hedge.

Alfred stood to his full height, looking around himself. He was encased in the rosebush - the biggest one. The "ceiling" of the "room" was easily ten to twelve feet tall at its highest, rounded, and interwoven, just like the birdcage it had been named after. Here and there, Alfred could see the wooden supports that had given the hedged-in room its shape.

Over on the opposite side of the enclosed space, Alfred could see a figure, lying on what looked like a hammock. He walked towards it at a slight jog, covering the perhaps ten feet across the circular base in a few seconds.

Arthur was curled up in the suspended blanket, halfway curled up into a ball, looking peaceful. Alfred almost felt guilty, interrupting what seemed to be a nap, but he had no idea how to get out of here. "Arthur?"

Emerald eyes fluttered open sleepily, and the Brit looked up at him for a few seconds, blinking blearily. "...Alfred...? How'd you get here?" he asked, sitting up, rubbing an eye in an attempt to wake himself up.

"No idea... And no idea how to get out, either..."

Arthur looked up at him for a few seconds, as if processing this information. When the other boy didn't say anything, Alfred coughed a bit. "Uhm, do you have any idea how...?"

"You're asleep. You just have to wake up."

"I'm asleep. But I'm awake."

"This is a dream," Arthur said, shrugging.

"If this is a dream, then what am I doing here?"

Arthur thought about this for a few moments. "You did come here before," he pointed out. "You might have gotten linked to this place on your first visit here, so it's possible for you to come here now when you're asleep."

Alfred sat on the hammock next to Arthur, flailing a bit when he nearly knocked the both of them over. Arthur glared at him, expression irritable, and Alfred responded with a sheepish smile and laugh. "So I just have to wake up?"

"As I understand it." Arthur shifted his position so that he was sitting next to Alfred.

Alfred attempted to shift his weight so that it was more comfortable, but lost his balance, tumbling back--

Just to feel a hand steadying him, holding him up. "Are you all right?" Arthur asked, his hand still keeping a firm hold on Alfred's arm.

"Yeah," Alfred responded, finally able to balance himself. He looked down at Arthur's hand. "You can touch me here?"

"I touched you here before, remember?" Arthur pointed out. He shook his head. "Here, I'm... 'Real', for a need of a better word, while outside my In-Between, I'm a spirit. From what I've come to understand, anyway." Arthur removed his hand from Alfred's person. "How did you find me, anyway?"

"You said the entrance was near the fountain. And there was a little fairy statue thing. She was pointing towards the door. Doesn't that seem kind of corny?" Alfred teased.

Arthur sniffed. "Hmph. Well, it may seem cliché, but at least you didn't wander around and get lost in the maze. It's nearly six acres."

"Six? But the plot Mom bought was only three."

"The original estate was much larger," Arthur explained. "My rose garden covered about six acres of it; the rest was mostly left wild. We were isolated... The nearest town was over two hours by horseback. It wasn't until about... Oh, the early nineteen-hundreds that the town nearby was built. As the years went on, the owners of the house sold off more of the estate land to developers and farmers."

Alfred looked thoughtful. "There's still woods North of the house," he pointed out. "Was that sold, too?"

Arthur shook his head. "If it was, they haven't done anything with it. It's the same as it was when I was alive. No one's touched it."

Alfred and Arthur continued their conversation, talking about meaningless things from this point on. Alfred explained to Arthur about the public schools he'd gone to back in California, and Arthur talked briefly about his days in his boarding school. Arthur seemed fascinated by the idea of skyscrapers, buildings that Alfred had grown up living around and in. "You've never left the estate since you died?"

Arthur shrugged. "There hasn't been a reason for me to... And I'm not sure if I could, really. The farther from the house I get, the weaker I feel."

"So the house is what's holding you to the human world? Maybe there's a portal to Hell in the basement, like in A Haunting in Connecticut!" Alfred exclaimed.

Arthur stared at him blankly. "Are you a prat? The house was my home when I was alive. Even if I hated it, it was home, so I have attachments to it. That's all."

Alfred pouted. "But if there was a portal to Hell, maybe there would be zombies, too! That'd be so awesome!"

"You're afraid of spirits," Arthur said dryly. "And don't lie to me. I've seen it. You get scared even watching stupid horror movies. What makes you think you could take on a horde of zombies?"

Alfred laughed.

* * *

Alfred's mother was currently out, leaving her two teenage sons at the house. She'd decided to take the night off and go socializing and try to make a few friends or meet a few neighbors. She'd given the twins a chance to come with, offering to drop them off at the town's mall, but both had declined, preferring to stay home. Matthew simply didn't want to go out, still unused to his surroundings. Alfred, on the other hand, was occupying himself with the garden, which he had now roped Matthew into helping with.

Though the sun had set almost half an hour previously, it was still warm. Arthur was standing nearby, watching the two brothers. The two of them were complete opposites. Alfred did most of the brawny work, lifting huge piles of brush and dead branches to the fire pit to be burned, while Matthew did the gentler tasks, such as gently pruning Arthur's roses with a careful, steady hand.

Arthur was beginning to like the younger twin. He stood nearby, watching over the teen as he continued to snip at the flowers, carrying on a conversation with Alfred the whole time. They talked about random things that Arthur had never heard of - something called surfing, which apparently Alfred was good at, their old home in California, and briefly, their entry into the high school in town later that year.

"Hey, Al?"

"Yeah, Mattie?"

"What do you think about Dad coming down for our birthday?"

Alfred shrugged a bit, though his usually relaxed posture was now stiff and rigid. "He'll probably ditch out," he admitted. "He always found an excuse to stay at work or something before."

Matthew pursed his lip. "Al, he _is_ our Dad... Maybe we should cut him some slack."

"The guy's never been there," Alfred pointed out. "He hasn't even eaten a slice of our birthday cake since we were like... four. Five, if we're lucky. And he's always acting like it isn't a big deal. He treated Mom like crap, to boot."

"He's still family," Matthew pointed out quietly. It was astonishing to Arthur the contrast between the brothers. If they hadn't looked like mirror images of the other, he wouldn't have said they were even related. "Maybe he'll change. Maybe things will get better."

"You've been saying that every summer for five years, Mattie," Alfred sighed, "and that's before they got divorced. The 'rents aren't getting back together, they're never gonna get along now that Mom's free, and Dad's not going to stop being a di--"

"Al!"

"What? He is!" Alfred protested. Matthew sighed, exasperated with his twin.

* * *

Arthur could feel the cool nighttime wind play with his hair, throwing it back from his face. In the house, Alfred was fast asleep, upstairs in bed.

Arthur walked near the edge of the woods, feeling incredibly alone. Even if Alfred had reassured him that, since he was there, he wasn't anymore, Arthur knew that, when it came down to it, he only had himself. Hell, the only time he could even _touch_ Alfred seemed to be in the In-Between, so what made the two of them believe they could ever have a normal relationship?

Arthur closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Alfred. That's what it all boiled down to.

All this was because of Alfred.

Before, his surroundings had been gray, muddled, as if always seen through a thick fog. Then Alfred had walked into the room he'd practically imprisoned himself in the past hundred and fifty years. It was as if all of his surroundings has brightened, illuminated by this boy - no, this man, who had a smile that could light up the darkest recesses of Arthur's heart. And when Alfred was away from Arthur, his world darkened again, the vivid colors he'd enjoyed in life once again dulling to the muted tones he'd gotten used to in death.

Arthur sat on a nearby fallen tree, pulling his knees to his chest, gazing up at the moon comfortably. The night was warm, but the light breeze kept him comfortable. Around him, the odd will'o'the'wisp flickered into being, sometimes stopping to rest on his knee, before floating off, its mind on other things rather than the humanoid spirit sulking in the forest.

"Arthur."

Arthur felt a small smile tug on his lips in spite of himself. "It's been a while, Titiana."


	4. Chapter 4

**Soul Mate**

**A/N: All right... For starters, congrats to Lady Scribetracker for pointing out a fact that I didn't even notice: that England is northeast of their current location. XD I'm giving her a requestfed fic for that. However, while she pointed out a very valid point, it wasn't the one I had in mind--So again, I'm offering a request fic for someone who can think up why Arthur is drawn to the Northeast. I'll give you a clue: it's a common device in manga that have to do with the supernatural, such as spirits, ghosts, and demons.**

**I'm wondering if you guys like these little 'knowledge tests'/'contests' for a request... If not, then I just won't do them anymore, but if you guys enjoy it, I'll put one in every once and a while.**

**I've also decided to go with Allykat001's suggestion of Christopher for Alfred's father (something I noticed after she suggested: Christopher Columbus, the 'discoverer' of America; that would be yet another reason for me to pick it xD). I also found Mooncatcher's suggestion of Richard hilarious, so kudos to her. XP**

**I just got back from Anime Detour in Minneapolis, which was completely AWESOME! I had a complete blast (Surprisingly, I was already on YouTube by the time I got home, which was approximately five hours after the con's ending ceremony. That must be a record.). Anyone who was there and is reading this, I hope you had as much fun as I did!**

**All right... One more thing and I'll stop bugging you guys. I want to know what people would prefer for the pairing for CANADA to end up being. It'd be either FrancexCanada or PrussiaxCanada; I'm fine with either, since Canada's kind of all over the place in my pairing favorites... So I propose a vote! (The pairing won't really become important/be included for quite a few chapters, so if the pairing you want is behind in the beginning, it may have time to catch up).**

**Please enjoy the next chapter of Soul Mate! **

* * *

**Chapter 4**

"Arthur," Titiana replied, smiling slightly. She brushed a stray strand of her silvery-gray hair out of her face with a snow-white hand. Bright purple eyes locked onto green, a level of understanding and camaraderie passing between the pair quickly before she spoke again. "How have you been?"

"I've been fine," Arthur smiled. "Though things have gotten... strange... since we last spoke."

Titiana gently brushed off a log, sitting down next to Arthur. "Oh? Care to enlighten me?" she asked teasingly. The older girl gently tucked more flyaway strands of her hair behind an ear, which tapered off to a delicate point. The Fae sent a fond look in Arthur's direction, making herself comfortable on the irregular chunks of wood.

Arthur began to fill Titiana in, starting from the beginning...

* * *

_"Alfred! Get back here and help your brother!"_

_Arthur opened his eyes, sitting up from his bed. Another family already? The last owner, a man in his early sixties, had just moved in a few months ago. He smiled somewhat. He'd be able to scare these people out, as well, with any luck. Every time a new family moved in, they simply ruined everything._

_He'd been horrified when a family that had moved in twenty years after Peter's death had nearly burned the entire house to the ground when they left a towel too close to the gas-burning stove. Equally bad were all the times his poor garden had gotten torn up, the once magnificent maze now dwindling to a few lines of rose bushes barely clinging to life._

_"Awe, Mattie's got it!" a teenager complained. Arthur could hear loud footsteps as the boy began to explore the house already._

_"Alfred, I'm gonna fall!"_

_"Fine, fine..."_

_Arthur scowled. He'd always hated teenagers the most. They never had any respect for the historical mansion, destroying nearly everything they touched... And now there were two of them in his house._

_Scowling, Arthur sat on his bay window seat, looking out at the ruined remains of his once-splendid roses. A few minutes later, the door to his room opened, and Arthur started, looking towards the door._

_He could have sworn his heart skipped a beat. He hadn't even been aware, as a spirit, that he had a heart, but this made him second-guess that thought. Ignoring the strange feeling in his chest, Arthur watched as the stranger looked around his room, peering into his drawers - which had long since been emptied after his death. As the stranger examined the now-antique mirror, Arthur walked towards his table. The stranger turned around quickly, and Arthur froze, though he wasn't sure why. After a moment, the stranger shrugged to himself, and went back to messing with Arthur's belongings._

* * *

_That night, Arthur watched in irritation as the stranger played a kind of game on some sort of a strange hand-held device. Eventually, he seemed to tire and put the strange contraption on top of Arthur's copy of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', which the imbecile had been flipping through earlier._

_Arthur reached over, knocking the handheld device off the top of the leather-bound volume, and replaced his bookmark where it belonged. The game skidded across the floor farther than Arthur had intended._

_The blonde in the bed sat up, turning on the light. He stared at the device, retrieved it, and returned to bed. Arthur noticed that he didn't go to sleep right away, huddled under the quilt._

* * *

_Arthur watched as the two brothers began working on the house, moving into the space. He was a little surprised that they hadn't done something stupid yet - such as destroy a door. On the contrary, they seemed to want to restore the home to its former glory. Not that the fact that they hadn't shoved a leg through a door or something equally stupid yet was any consolation. He still didn't trust these outsiders in his house._

_As the boy began sweeping out one of the rooms, Arthur had to fight back the urge to warn the blonde teen about the weak boards in the closet. After all, the human couldn't possibly hear him._

_He watched as the stranger's foot went through the board, and he let out a surprised yell. The younger brother yelled upstairs, asking if everything was all right. After a quick reply and the other boy - Matthew - offered to get their mother, the rest of the boards collapsed, and the tall blonde teen fell to the second floor._

_Arthur could have sworn his heart stopped beating when he looked over the edge, seeing him lying in a heap on the floor, unresponsive when his brother ran over a few seconds later, the younger twin calling out his name._

* * *

Arthur continued to recount their first meeting - how he'd been surprised that Arthur had come to, of all places, _his_ In-Between. Sheepishly, he also explained how their memories had somehow intertwined, though he politely left out any of the memories he'd actually seen of Alfred's.

"And you stopped him from seeing all of yours?" Titiana asked, expression thoughtful; a small layer of sadness seemed to be underneath it.

"Yes."

"Arthur, you can't continue to act like nothing ever happened," Titiana said gently.

Arthur shook his head. "...I don't remember. I don't _want_ to remember."

Titiana sighed gently. "Arthur... If you remember how you died, maybe you'll move on to the Afterlife. Or whatever's after death."

Arthur bit his lip, green eyes unsure, a hint of fear in them. "You know how I died, Titiana."

"It isn't my place to tell you what you should remember for yourself," the Fae leader stated. "It would be wrong of me to force you to remember something like that."

"Do all of the dead forget how they died?" Arthur asked, leaning back. He stared at the sky, losing himself in the millions of twinkling stars.

"No," Titiana replied after a pause. "But you're not like anyone else, Arthur," she smiled, trying to change the subject. "You've always been different."

"Alfred can see me in this world now."

"That doesn't surprise me, considering," Titiana laughed. "After all, he had a near-death experience himself, as well as..." She cut off, covering a smile with her hand. "Well, it would be hard to explain..."

"You know more than you're letting on," Arthur stated dryly. "That was always one personality trait of yours I found infuriating."

Titiana laughed openly. "I suppose. But a Queen can't share all her secrets, now, can she?"

Arthur smiled, amused. "Even when you weren't Queen, Titiana, you still were irritating in that aspect."

"Well, Arthur... It just so happens that I _do_ know what's between you and the human boy." Arthur waited patiently, staring at Titiana expectantly. She shook her head, smiling softly. "As I said before. It isn't my place to say. It's for the two of you to realize. But I suggest that you think long and hard about the red string connecting the two of you."

* * *

Alfred was currently helping his brother lug a futon up the stairs. The two boys had decided to work on redecorating their rooms, and their mother had given each of them a hundred dollars to use on this attempt. Alfred had managed to pick up the piece of furniture at a thrift store for fifteen bucks - the old owner had even thrown in the cushion for free. Apparently, her son was moving out, and was leaving it behind. Though the cushion on it was a little worse for the wear, it served its purpose.

"All right, Mattie, push!" Alfred called. Matthew grunted with the effort of moving the surprisingly heavy frame up the steep stairs. A few more shoves, and it made it onto the final landing.

The two boys sat down on the wooden stairs. Matthew was panting, but Alfred had barely broken into a sweat.

"Why the heck did you have to have a room on the third floor?" Matthew complained. "And what do you need a futon for? You have that window seat, don't you?"

Alfred did have the cushioned bay window, but he'd noticed that Arthur usually preferred to sit there, gazing out the window. He'd already taken Arthur's bed, and he'd feel bad if he took the window seat from him, as well. "You can't move it," he explained lamely. "How am I supposed to play video games from the window, anyways?"

Matthew sighed, shaking his head. "You're lucky these rooms are big enough to have room for that double bed _and _this hunk of junk."

"Hey! There's nothing wrong with my futon!"

"The frame's fine, but that mattress has seen better days."

"Well, fine. The mattress is crap. But you don't have to be mean about it," Alfred scoffed, rolling his eyes.

The two blonde twins somehow managed to scrape, scramble, and push their way up to the top floor with the metal frame with only minor mishaps (they hadn't thought about how they would get the long frame around the small, short corners of the landings, but fixed it when they turned the couch on its side; though, of course, the mattress had then detached itself and landed on Matthew).

"Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"Remind me not to help you move out," Matthew said, his face buried in the pillow of Alfred's bed. Alfred was stretched out on his new futon, his long legs hanging off the ends of the couch a few inches.

Alfred laughed, and flipped on his PlayStation. Matthew watched him play his first-person survivor shooter for a few minutes before growing bored. "While you blow the heads off of the living dead, I'm going to go do something more constructive."

"Feel free. Sounds boring, anyways," Alfred cracked. On the television, a loud shriek from the nearest zombie was accompanied by gunfire as Alfred pumped it full of lead. Matthew grimaced at the violence as blood spattered onto the screen as his older twin continued to mow down the line of undead minions dragging themselves towards Alfred's avatar. The more passive twin left the room, deciding he didn't want to be scarred for life any more than he already was.

"What the bloody hell is that?"

"Hey Artie," Alfred greeted, not removing his eyes from the screen. He finished up the next wave of evil undead before pausing his game and looking over towards the window seat, where Arthur was perched, one leg crossed over the other in a remarkably feminine fashion (though Alfred knew better than to comment on that fact).

Arthur leaned forward, peering at the game with slight interest. "Looks rather violent, doesn't it?"

"Mom gave it to me for my birthday last year," Alfred quipped, smiling.

Arthur shook his head. "Bonkers, the lot of you Americans."

Alfred laughed brightly. "Awe, don't be that way. You know you love us."

Arthur felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth in spite of himself. "I suppose I've grown a little fond of you. That brother of yours is quite charming... Adorable, really. It makes me wonder how you're related."

"Hey! I'm plenty cute, when I wanna be!" Alfred protested, pouting. Arthur grinned like the Cheshire cat, green eyes impish. He'd never been like this in life - he'd never really cared much for idle teasing. Alfred's reactions were simply too hard to resist, however, and the Brit found himself pushing the American's buttons more and more often. Alfred rolled his eyes. "Jerk," he grumbled. "Where have you been all day, anyways?"

"The In-Between," Arthur shrugged. "I apologize if I don't find carrying furniture up stairs as interesting as you do. And you took the car to go shopping in town earlier - I couldn't exactly come along on that little trip."

Alfred's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Which is dumb. I'd love to show you around. It's a small town, but I already feel right at home."

Alfred was easy to like - Arthur wasn't surprised that he fit in so well around here, with his friendly disposition, outgoing personality, and good looks. "Well excuse me for being dead," he stated dryly. "I'm sorry you can't drag me around like you do with poor Matthew. Besides. It'd be quite the sight for others in town to see you talking to thin air. You'd become the town nutcase."

"Oh yeah," Alfred said, as if just remembering. "No one else can see you. I keep forgetting that."

"How the hell do you forget that I'm dead?" Arthur asked indignantly.

"You seem plenty lively to me," Alfred said, sending a bright smile Arthur's way. "I can see you; I can touch you in the In-Between... It's like having a regular friend. Just that I couldn't really invite you to dinner without Mom thinking I've completely lost my marbles."

* * *

Alfred listened as his mother argued with his father on the phone, hesitant to enter the kitchen. It was late, and he'd come down to grab something to take back upstairs to eat while he explained the finer points of video games to Arthur. Instead, he'd come down to a verbal war between his mother and father over a couple thousand miles of telephone wire.

"Damn it, Christopher, you do this every year! Matthew hasn't seen you since we moved out, and he's heartbroken! ...Yes, I'm sure Alfred cares, too, he's just not as sensitive as--Don't you say that about your own son, you son of a bitch!" she hissed dangerously. "You listen to me. You are COMING this summer, whether you like it or not. You at least owe the boys the chance to see you before they're off to college next year."

There was a long pause as his mother listened to whatever it was his father was saying on the other end of the line. Alfred's heart was racing slightly. He felt as if he were twelve again, watching as his mother and father argued over where half of his mother's paycheck had gone, fought about where he had been the night of the twins' birthday, screamed at each other, asking what was keeping them from just getting it over with and divorcing... It made the usually self-confident teen feel useless and weak, because he couldn't protect his mother from the biting words and insults his father was always sure to hurl at her.

"Yes, we bought a new house. We're not staying in an apartment anymore," Kimberly sighed. "We've moved into an old mansion on the skirts of town. We're fixing it up and turning it into a bed and breakfast." There was another pause. "Oh, Alfred found some old papers from when it was still a family estate - The Garden? Apparently it belonged to a rich British guy who moved over here in the 1830s... I bought it cheap, since apparently the last owner was superstitious and thought it was haunted." Alfred nearly wondered if the argument was over now, and it would be safe for him to go in and grab a bag of chips and then dash back up to the safety of the third floor.

"...Oh, so now that you've heard that, you're ready to come?" Kimberly yelled, killing Alfred's plan. "Typical! You and your damn fascination with old, haunted buildings! Honestly, Christopher, you think more of those damn husks of wood than you do of your own kids!" She slammed the phone down on the receiver. Alfred could see her bright-blue eyes welling up with tears.

She collapsed into a nearby kitchen chair; her face buried in her hands, and began shaking silently with sobs. Alfred stepped forward quietly, and reached out, putting a hand on his mother's shoulder. "Mom? You going to be okay?"

She jumped a bit, looking up at her son. She wiped away tears hastily, trying to put on a brave face. "...Mom, I'm not ten anymore," Alfred said. He knelt down on one knee in front of his mother, looking her straight in the eyes, and pulled her into a hug. "If you're sad, you don't have to hide it around me anymore."

"Me, too." Matthew seemed to materialize out of nowhere. The younger twin brought himself into his family's small show of affection, putting an arm around his mother. "We're both here for you, Mom. So don't cry anymore. Let it out."

Kimberly felt a sob escape her mouth, just for it to come out sounding like a laugh, short and abrupt. "Oh, boys... When did you get so grown up...?" she whispered, hugging her sons closer to her. Tears were leaking out of her eyes, but she was smiling.

* * *

Arthur watched as Alfred slept soundly in his bed, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his hair messy and lying strewn about the pillow randomly, though that stubborn strand still stuck up in the front as always. Eyes that were usually half hidden behind his half-frame glasses were closed, probably seeing good dreams at the moment. Out of bare curiosity, Arthur reached forward, touching a hand to Alfred's. It didn't pass completely through, as with all the other people or objects Arthur touched, but Arthur couldn't feel the skin beneath his hand. It was simply just something he couldn't pass through.

He could feel, tugging at the edges of his mind, something he couldn't quite place. It reminded him of the first time he had met Alfred face to face, in his In-Between - though where it had been forceful and unexpected before, it was now coaxing and gentle. It didn't push itself into his mind as it had before, didn't invade his mind like an unwanted probe, but waited patiently, as if waiting for his go-ahead.

Arthur didn't know exactly how he did it, but he stretched out towards it a little more. He could feel it stronger now.

For only a moment, Arthur saw a flash of light, as well as what looked like a long trail of red string, tangled and matted, but unbroken. As soon as he saw it, it was gone.

He pulled his mind away from the strange entity, wary and untrusting.


	5. Chapter 5

**Soul Mate**

**A/N: Once again, thank you so much for the great reviews! I adore writing this story... I have most of the story already lined up, as well as a possible sequel, if the readers should decide they want one. I've heard concerns about the story's ending, and I want to remind readers that anything can be expected in the world of writing, so don't lose hope. =P**

**Congrats to iMagical!, who pointed out the fact about Northeast I was looking for. In Japanese culture, the direction Northeast is considered unlucky; for example, if a door is placed on the Northeast side of a house, demons are supposed to be able to enter the home. However, since they weren't signed in, I a. have no way of getting ahold of them for their request, and b. have no way of knowing it was really THEM, should I manage to get ahold of them; so, in this case, I'm afraid I'm going to have to withdraw the 'prize'.**

**I'm currently reading over past chapters, to make sure that all my spelling/grammer/other stuff is right... I was informed that I referred to Alfred as America. And boo, I hate that habit now, but only because of this fic. If anyone sees a mistake that I missed, please point it out for me!**

**I'm getting ready for my next con... Which has been tiring, surprisingly. I'm going to be running an Artist Alley table with a friend of mine at Sogen Con 2010 in Souix Falls, South Dakota this July. Any readers going?**

**Please remember to vote for your Canada pairing! =3**

**Prussia/Canada: 2**

**France/Canada: 0**

**Don't care: 1**

**This chapter's dedicated to my new Beta, PiratedxHearts. Who's also a very interesting person to talk to while I'm working on chapters. XD With convo topics such as England and Italy high on ecstacy, The Apocolypse Convo, strange kinks we think that America would have (England wearing Texas, anyone?), and the Fast Food Song (A Pizza Hut, a Pizza Hut, Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut...), who on Earth would get bored while writing? In any case, she's completely awesome - definately at Prussia level. XP**

**In any case, please enjoy chapter five of Soul Mate!**

**(Also, I apologize in advance for my horrible French. XD I'm a Spanish student! Thank God for BabelFish. If anyone speaks French, feel free to correct any mistakes.)**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Alfred cracked his neck, yawning widely. "Matthew, why'd we have to come here so early?"

"You're the one who wanted to come to the garden supply store, Alfred," Matthew pointed out.

"Yeah, but not this early!" Alfred complained.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Al, it's nine in the morning."

"Exactly!" Alfred stated, crossing his arms. "I should just be rolling out of bed, but I've been awake for two hours."

Matthew sighed, shaking his head. "Honestly, Alfred. And then you wonder why we think you're lazy?"

Alfred grumbled in response, following his brother into the store. The large, greenhouse-like building seemed to stretch on for ages, filled to the brim with what had to be hundreds of different types of flowers. An entire section was devoted just to roses. Alfred wandered through these aisles for some time, taking in the different scents and types of Arthur's favorite flowers. He particularly liked two of the breeds he saw - a deep crimson-red one that reminded him, strangely, of the red coats worn by the British during the Revolutionary War, called Beautiful Britain. The second was a darker crimson, nearly black along the edges; this one called itself Black Magic.

When Alfred thought about it, Arthur's own roses (at least, the blooms he'd seen in the In-Between) looked something like a cross between the two. It had the same vague star-like shape as the Black Magic breed, and was colored the same crimson red as the Beautiful Britain, though the red of Arthur's "Wicked Love" breed had a slight difference in shade. It was closer to the shade of freshly spilled blood, for want of a better comparison.

"These look pretty," Matthew commented, smiling widely and gently lifting the bloom of an ivory-white rose. "What do you think, Alfred?"

Alfred glanced at it, but shrugged. Arthur seemed to like red blooms the most - and he was trying to restore the dead boy's garden back to the way it had been before his death. "I like the red more... The white looks too girly, don't you think? The red looks at least a little more masculine."

"I suppose..." Matthew said, eyebrows furrowing. "Are you set on just red? Doesn't that seem a little... I dunno... repetitive?"

"Ah, but a red rose is the most beautiful blossom in existence. A passionate red, bursting at the seams with all the pent-up love for the one to whom you gift with its fragrant branch..."

Out of nowhere, a long-haired blonde appeared, handing a long-stemmed rose to Matthew. Strangely, he had a French accent. He appeared to be maybe a few years older than the twins. "Is there anything I can help you with, _mon cherie_?"

"_Aucun merci,_" Matthew managed to stammer out. Alfred had nearly forgotten that his brother had taken four years of French. The more skittish of the twins was practically fluent in the language, though he didn't get many chances to speak it.

"_Ah, C'est trop mauvais..._"

"Hey, can you speak English? You know, so I can understand?" Alfred asked, effectively lost.

"Ah, my apologies," the Frenchmen replied. Alfred could have sworn that he saw _sparkles and roses_ floating around this guy, he was that weird. "My name is Francis Bonnefoy." Matthew gazed down at the red rose that the older blonde had given him, his bright eyes wide and confused. "You, of course, may call me Francis, _cherie._"

"Uhm..." Matthew edged away, looking a little uncomfortable. The Frenchman leaned against a nearby shelf, and began talking to Matthew in hushed French. Matthew steadily grew from his normal skin tone to pink, and finally to a bright red.

"Hey. Quit verbally molesting my brother," Alfred complained, stepping between the older man and his innocent little brother.

Francis looked at him, faking hurt. "_Combien grossier, s'interrompant comme cela!_"

"Speak English or get the hell outta the country," Alfred hissed in reply, glaring at the Frenchman.

Matthew, whose ears were still an interesting shade of red, grabbed Alfred's arm. "Al, don't make a fight out of it. It's no big deal, really."

Alfred hadn't removed his dark gaze from the Frenchman. "Well he won't _back off_, and it's _obvious_ he's embarrassing you..."

Behind them, there was an extremely loud _crash_. Francis and Matthew both jumped about a foot in the air. Alfred turned around, wondering where the sudden noise could have come from. Behind them, an entire shelf, which had at one time been about twenty feet tall, filled to the brim with seedlings of small flowers - now, the hundreds of small ceramic pots were in millions of pieces, the tiny flowers strewn about the floor like gore in a horror movie. Matthew's eyes were wide, and he seemed to be hyperventilating a bit from the fright the abrupt noise had caused.

Standing with a ladder in his hands, a man with silvery hair and bright red eyes was staring at the carnage with a look that clearly said "oh shit, I'm dead".

"GILBERT!"

Alfred watched as the albino man jumped, turning towards the source of the voice. "Uh... Francis did it!" he accused, pointing at the blonde Frenchman in the next aisle.

Francis jumped. "What? I did no such thing!"

A tall, muscled man walked over, fury in every fiber of his being. His bright blue eyes shone with it, and his slicked-back blonde hair intensified the look. "Honestly, Ludwig, I swear--" Alfred had to hold in impolite laughter. _Ludwig_. That was rich. Who had a name like that nowadays?

"I don't care who the hell did it!" Ludwig yelled. "I just want it cleaned up! What are you doing in the flower center, in any case, Gilbert? I put you in charge of the register for a reason! All you ever do is destroy things back here!"

"Ve, Ludwig, are you yelling at Gilbert again?"

Ludwig, whom America now thought of in his thoughts fondly as "The Angry German Kid", sighed, turning back to a slightly short, brown-haired boy with an slight Italian accent who had just wandered over. "Feliciano, I told you, you can't bother me while I'm working..."

"But no one's here yet," the Italian complained. "It's still early, and I won't be able to see you all summer since you'll be working..."

Ludwig cleared his throat. "In any case." He turned back to Gilbert. Alfred and Matthew continued to watch on in interest. "Get that cleaned up pronto, and maybe I won't fire you." Ludwig handed Gilbert a broom and a dustpan that he'd conveniently brought with him (Alfred wondered how he hadn't noticed it earlier), and the blonde stalked away, dragging Francis behind him. "And while he does that, you work the register. Got it?" Feliciano tagged along behind the two of them, chattering away the whole time.

Gilbert grumbled to himself, and began sweeping the dirt, ceramic shards, and flowers alike into a pile.

Matthew kneeled down, and began gently scooping together the least damaged of the plants. "Y-you might be able to transplant some of these and save them," he said timidly. Gilbert watched the more timid of the twins begin to piece together plants, trying to keep their roots in dirt as much as possible. Eventually, he knelt down, attempting to aid Matthew.

"You don't have to help me, you know," Gilbert shrugged. "The awesome me can clean up a few broken pots."

Matthew smiled up at the silver-haired teenager. "It's all right. I want to help."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "You have fun cleaning up this guy's mess, Mattie," he stated dryly. "I'm going to go look for those rosebushes we were supposed to come here for." Honestly, his brother was such a neat-freak at times. Why was he even _offering_ to help him? This Gilbert guy obviously worked here, so it was part of his job to clean up this sort of thing.

Alfred wandered amongst the flowers for a little while longer. He'd now set his heart on the Black Magic and Beautiful Britain roses, knowing Arthur would be positively enchanted by the gorgeous blooms.

"Alfred?" Matthew called. Alfred looked over his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Gilbert said he'd help us with our roses," Matthew smiled. "We had to get eight bushes, right?"

"Yeah. I picked out the types, too. The Black Magics and Beautiful Britains."

Matthew frowned slightly. "Why only get red?" he questioned. "I mean, fine, you think white's too girly, but what's wrong with some of these other ones?" Matthew went over to a burgundy colored bloom, cradling it gently in his hand. "I mean, this Hot Chocolate one isn't that bad."

Alfred smiled widely. "Nope. Red... It can be a theme!"

Matthew sighed, shaking his head, knowing when he'd lost. Besides, though he was borrowing the money from their mother, Alfred was paying for the bushes himself - and with the prices of these bushes, it would be quite a few months' worth of extra chores around the house and allowance to pay for them.

Gilbert came around a corner with a cart. "All right, new guys. What kind did you want?"

"Four of each of these," Alfred said, expression chipper, as he helped Gilbert load the roses onto the flat board on wheels.

Gilbert lifted one of the medium-sized plants up, hefting it up and holding it against his chest to keep himself from dropping it. "So, when'd you two move in?"

"We moved into that old mansion on the outskirts of town about a week ago," Alfred offered, hefting another one of the plants up with ease. While Gilbert seemed to struggle to hold the surprisingly heavy plants still, Alfred was able to carry them with relative ease, though the thorns sticking him through his shirt were less than pleasant.

Gilbert's eyebrows raised in surprise. "The old Kirkland place? Really? Wow, and you actually sleep there at night?"

"What's wrong with it?" Matthew asked, eyebrows furrowing.

"Well, you know the stories, don't you?" Gilbert smiled, and Alfred shuddered at the strangely psychotic face the silver-haired albino was making. "Or didn't the old owner tell you? Probably too afraid you wouldn't buy it if you heard them."

Matthew gulped a bit. "Wh-what're the stories about?"

Gilbert moved closer, speaking in a lower tone of voice. "Well... Back when the house was built, some rich millionaire British guy used to keep his kids there. Most of them were normal enough, but one of them was completely off his rocker. You know, cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, nuttier than a fruitcake, a few crayons short of a box..." Alfred winced. Arthur. That had to be who Gilbert had to be talking about.

"Anyways, the little guy got crazier and crazier as the years went on. Eventually, he snapped. No one really knows what happened to him, just that he left the house in the middle of the night, went off into the woods, and never came out again. Ever since then, though, there's been weird _stuff_ happening in that house. Crying, screams, moving objects, the temperature randomly drops... Everyone with half a functioning braincell can tell that it's the loony kid doing it."

Alfred realized that his fists were clenched. He tried to relax them, but it was more difficult than he would have imagined.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Alfred sipped at his coffee, looking around the shop. He still wasn't quite back to his completely worry-free self yet after the whole "Arthur-was-a-Nutcase" incident.. The small locally-owned shop was homey, comfy, with a simple decor that really had no prevalent theme. In one corner, Alfred saw two black-haired Asians sipping at cups of tea, having a quiet conversation.

Alfred glanced back towards the counter, where his brother was still trying to figure out what to order with the help of one of the employees - a smiling, tanned man with slightly curly hair. Next to him was a frowning, moody trainee who looked almost exactly like the Italian that had been following Ludwig around the gardening center (though their personalities were polar opposites, almost to a scary degree).

"Excuse me?" Alfred looked towards the direction the quiet, polite voice had come from. One of the Asians had come over to him, smiling slightly. He had short hair, a slightly girly figure, and large dark eyes - judging by the slight accent he had, he was Japanese. "I was wondering if you had a moment?"

"Uh, sure." Alfred followed the other boy to the table where the other teen was sitting. This one had long, dark-brown hair, pulled into a low ponytail. He stood a few inches taller than the Japanese teen that had come and fetched Alfred.

"My name's Kiku, and this is Yao." Alfred briefly thought that Kiku was a rather girly name for a guy, but then again, he seemed rather girly to him... "We thought you looked rather troubled."

"Hm? Oh, no, everything's fine," Alfred assured them.

Yao reached over, pulling Alfred into the chair next to him. He took Alfred's cardboard cup of coffee, replacing it with a porcelain teacup. "Drink," he urged. He had an obvious Chinese accent, a little heavier than Kiku's, but still easy enough to make out. Alfred blinked in confusion, but did as the other teen asked.

He sipped at the slightly bitter drink, making a face. "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but I actually don't like tea--"

"Drink." This time, it was an order. Yao looked at Alfred with an interested expression, studying his face. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Alfred tried his best to drink the bitter beverage with as little contact on his tongue as possible - in short, he chugged it.

Yao put a hand to Alfred's. "Drink the last few sips slowly."

Alfred did as he asked, about gagging on the now stronger oolong tea. At the bottom of the cup, he could see a strange, soggy mass. What the hell was that?

Yao took the cup from him, and turned it upside-down on a saucer. He waited a few minutes, then turned it right side up. He pushed the cup towards Alfred. "What do you see?"

"See?"

"In the tea leaves. Look at the remains."

Alfred peered into the porcelain cup, gazing at the strange, soggy mess left behind. He didn't really _see_ anything. He supposed that looking for shapes in the lumps to tea leaves was like gazing at clouds and finding animals when he was a kid. "Uhm... That kind of looks like a mouse..." he pointed at one of the shapes, careful not to touch it. "And that looks like necklace. With a broken clasp?" Yao nodded. "And uhm... The thing next to the necklace. A daisy, maybe?" There were two more lumps he hadn't yet identified. They were a little harder. "Uhm... that one's a... a foot?" If he turned the cup a certain way, it sure looked like one. "And that last one's a harp." In truth, it looked more like a bow with three strings, but whatever.

Yao nodded, smiling slightly. "A mouse - your heart's been stolen away."

Alfred blushed slightly. "Wha?"

"He's reading your tea leaves," Kiku stated, smiling behind a hand. "He insisted that it would be a good idea."

"A broken necklace - danger ahead in the game of love," Yao said, looking thoughtful. It was obvious that he had these signs well memorized. "Daisies are new love, and a harp is romance." Was it just Alfred, or were all of these seemingly innocent objects somehow connected to love? "And a foot, wasn't it?" Alfred nodded.

"Walking away from the past. However, you turned it this way, so it isn't meant for you... It'd be directed towards a close friend of yours."

This was all gibberish to the American. The little shapes and squiggles at the bottom of the cup were just that - shapes and squiggles. There was no hidden meaning behind them. Though he wouldn't put it past Arthur to believe in something like that...

"Oh, and another thing," Yao stated, as if he had nearly forgotten. "The love that I was talking about? You've already found your special person. Follow the red string tied around your ankle and it will lead to them."

Kiku coughed politely. "It's the pinky, Yao-san."

Yao rolled his eyes. "Ankle, pinky, there's no difference. This string connects you to your one and only. It can stretch and tangle, but can never, ever break."

Alfred stared at the two Asians, his cheeks glowing a light pink. What the hell did they mean, his 'one and only'? He was an American teenager. He didn't have to be worrying about true love yet!

Yao smiled, looking oddly knowing. "Your brother's gotten his drink from Antonio. It's a good thing, too... Lovino looked like he was about ready to explode. You'd best get home. After all, I'm sure you have someone waiting for you."

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Arthur stretched himself out, basking in the sun of his In-Between. The weather here never changed; neither did the time. The predictability of his little world was comforting, but at the same time a little tiring. He sometimes wished that it would change, just for the hell of it - for rain to fall, for the never-ending afternoon to finally fall to night. It hadn't happened in a hundred and sixty-eight years, so he doubted heavily that it would.

The blonde rolled onto his stomach, breathing deep the familiar scent of roses. Surrounded by his Cage of thorns, he'd never felt safer or more at peace. Frozen forever in the summer months, his roses were always in full bloom, their red petals never dropping, never fading, as their blossoms defied the laws of nature and lived on. He was sure that these immortal blooms were exactly the same as they had had been on the day he'd died.

"Arthur?"

Arthur sat up, smiling at his visitor. "Alfred. Welcome back."

"You haven't come back to the house for two days," Alfred complained, leaning against a nearby support beam. A small pout was perched on his lips, and blue eyes glared out from beneath messy-cut bangs.

Arthur shrugged minutely, waving it off. A small smile twitched onto his face, amused by the sullen expression the other teen wore. "Oh... I've been busy..."

"Doing what?" Alfred asked, still pouting like a small child. "I haven't even been able to show you your present!"

"Present?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, surprised. What could possibly posses Alfred to get him a gift?

"Yeah. We found them in town. Matthew told Mom we were restoring the rose bushes, and she let us use her debit card to buy them... I have to pay her back, though, since this is my project... We had to fill in the holes left behind by the dead ones."

"You bought me rose bushes?" Arthur was actually rather taken back by the thoughtfulness of the gift. Alfred knew how much he adored his rose bushes, but Arthur knew they weren't exactly the cheapest plant.

"Yeah," Alfred smiled widely. "They're called Black Magic... They're really dark red, and they're _huge_... I also bought a few called Beautiful Britain... They won the Rose of the Year in England in '83... I thought that'd mean something awesome to you..."

Alfred continued to rant about the beautiful blooms that they'd managed to get, describing the dark-crimson color of the Black Magic roses and how the edges of the beautiful blooms were tainted black, the strange resemblance of the Beautiful Britains to the coats of the British soldiers during the Revolution, to the intently listening Arthur, who was watching with an enraptured expression, green eyes shining as they talked animatedly about his beloved flowers.

After a few minutes, Alfred made himself comfortable on the grass next to Arthur, their knees just barely touching as they continued their conversation. Arthur was suggesting the best compost for the growing bushes, and Alfred was responding with things he had been told by Francis at the store where they'd purchased the roses (for some reason, Arthur seemed a little put off by the fact that his present had been bought from a Frenchman, but had let it slide).

Arthur's lips were parted slightly, the corners turned up in a slight smile. The full, slight pouty lips were glistening, moving pleasantly as Arthur laughed at something Alfred was only half-aware of himself saying. Arthur asked him a question, and though Alfred heard it, his mind didn't really comprehend it. His gaze was captured by Arthur's mouth. Before he knew what he was doing, he was leaning down, closing the distance between the two of them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Soul Mate**

**A/N: Wow. The last chapter got quite the amount of reviews in the first few hours it was up. XD Awesome.**

**All right... Well, I tried to get this up in as little time as possible. However, a certain partner in crime of mine and I kept getting distracted by our strange conversations again (Prussia having a maple syrup kink, for example XD).**

**In any case, I'm going to close voting for the Canada pairing. I feel a little bad for the single person who voted for Francis. XD Sayurnotimaginary, you have my sincerest apologies. Don't count Francis out for the count, though - he'll still pop in and do... Iunno. France things. XD So from here on out, the pairings are USUK and PruCan. XD Also, blame PiratedxHearts for making PruCan my second/third OTP for Hetalia... GerIta's in there somewhere, I'm sure. XD**

**Before I leave you guys to the new chapter, I've finished Lady Scribetracker's one-shot request prize... thingy - "You're Not Mine Anymore". She also asked if I accepted fanart for my stories. The answer to that question is YES. I'd absolutely adore having fanart drawn about my stories, so if you do anything, please leave a link in a review or send me a PM!**

**Please enjoy chapter six of Soul Mate!**

**Chapter Six**

Alfred's lips brushed against Arthur's, moving away briefly before coming back down on the Brit's in a firmer kiss, one arm snaking its way around the smaller blonde's waist gently.

Arthur felt his breath hitch slightly when Alfred's lips brushed against his a second time. But at the same time, it felt... _right_. As if this were supposed to be as natural as breathing to the two of them. Alfred's arm wrapped around him, gently pulling him closer.

Arthur leaned forward a fraction, his own arms going up and wrapping themselves around Alfred's neck, pulling himself closer to Alfred's broad chest. The American tentatively put a hand up to cradle the back of his head, tangling those long fingers into Arthur's hair, the arm around his waist tightening slightly, holding him firmly in place. What exactly had brought on this impromptu kiss? Arthur wasn't really sure. At that moment however, it didn't matter to him.

Arthur felt Alfred's tongue lick as his bottom lip, asking for entrance. Arthur granted it, feeling his body heat up slightly, his face flush. He surrendered himself over to the taller male, knowing that, in a battle for dominance, Alfred would most likely win anyways.

_Damn_, where had he learned to kiss like this? Arthur's head swam, unable to think of a coherent thought other than the fact that he enjoyed the feeling of Alfred's lips on his.

A few more endless moments passed, but it wasn't nearly long enough. Arthur's need for oxygen soon overpowered his need for Alfred, and he pulled back, panting for breath. If the heat radiating from his cheeks said anything, it was that he was a bright cherry red.

Alfred was breathing a little more heavily than usual, as well, but had made a sound of complaint when Arthur pulled away. "What's wrong?"

"I can't breathe, you tosser," Arthur murmured darkly, looking away. Now that Alfred wasn't kissing the daylights out of him, his brain cells were back in working order, and he'd gained his sense of reason back.

Alfred turned red, rubbing the back of his head. "Oh... Uh... Sorry?" The taller blonde laughed nervously.

Arthur didn't respond at first, still trying to find a reason as to why he'd kissed Alfred - or, rather, why he enjoyed kissing Alfred. Eventually, he decided that there was really nothing he could do but come clean about it. "It wasn't that... I didn't like it," he said slowly. "It was just... unexpected."

Alfred smiled a bit. "So a kiss has to be planned?"

Arthur glared at him, but his cheeks burned a darker red. "I-I never said that, you twit."

Alfred grinned, like the cat that caught the canary. "Hmm. Then is it okay if I kiss you?" he teased.

Arthur glared at him, but didn't move away when Alfred leaned forward. He closed his eyes, waiting to feel Alfred kiss him again.

After a few seconds, he cracked his eyes open again. Alfred was back in his normal sitting position, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "You never said it was okay," he said, singsong.

Arthur growled in annoyance, leaning forward and capturing the American's lips on his own. At least it would shut up the stupid Yankee for a bit. It felt just as right, if not more, than the first kiss.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Will-o'-the-wisps drifted around Arthur lazily, mindless in their wandering. Arthur reached out, allowing one to land on his hand like a ghostly firefly. He smiled a bit, then watched it closely as it flickered slightly, and then flew back off into the night. Arthur looked down at the sleeping Alfred, wondering just how he would react if he saw his room at night. Other creatures, lost souls like Arthur, seemed to flock here, but only when Alfred was deep asleep. Perhaps it was for the best, considering the other boy's phobia of the supernatural.

Arthur watched as Alfred stirred a bit, rolled onto his side, and began breathing softly again, falling back into his deep slumber. His hand was hanging off the edge of the bed, his fingertips just barely brushing against the hardwood floors. The dead boy moved closer, concentrating on making his hands as solid as possible, and gently lifted Alfred's arm back onto the mattress, and then covered him a little more snugly with his quilt. Alfred moved deeper into the cocoon of blankets, quiet snores escaping his mouth.

Arthur smiled lightly, feeling his heart warm with affection towards the American.

When it had happened, he didn't know, but he did know that he had a bit of a crush on Alfred. He'd admitted it to himself when he'd kissed Alfred. He wasn't afraid of homosexuality. Though he had been raised in a human era where it was seen as a sin, as an act of Satan, or as taboo, he'd spent more time with the Fae, who had stressed the fact that "love is love". Titiana had been one of the main Fae he'd kept in contact with, and she was always saying that, when humans were made, they had a Soul Mate, a person made just for them. They would love this person no matter what they did, and gender played no role in it.

"Gender," she had told him, "has no place in love. Neither does social standing, monetary wealth, physical appearances, or distance. If you love a person, you will stop at nothing to be with them. Not even death can keep apart soul mates, Arthur. Their worlds revolve around the other, and they'll be like the first glimpse of the sun after a lifetime in darkness."

Alfred was definitely a source of light for Arthur, though the stubborn Brit would never admit it to Alfred's face. Alfred's personality was like a summer day - bright, sunny, and cheery. Alfred was his sun, bringing light to the dark exile Arthur had been banished to when he'd woken up in his In-Between for the first time. Though he was more than irritating, more than asinine, and beyond naive beyond all belief, Arthur had a feeling that he was better off for having met Alfred.

Though Arthur wasn't sure if he could label his affection for Alfred as 'love' or not, he did know that there was something between the two of them.

He kept the term 'soul mate' out of his thoughts at the moment. The notion was ridiculous. They had been born in different eras. He'd died before the Civil War, for Christ's sake! The most they could truly be was friends, wasn't it?

Because Arthur was rather sure his 'soul mate' would have been born in his own era, and would have died by now as a consequence. For some reason, thinking about soul mates was making his chest hurt.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Alfred watched as his younger brother flipped a pancake expertly with a flick of his wrist. No one made better pancakes than his twin - screw IHOP, Alfred would take Matthew's buttermilk specialties any day. Matthew flipped it onto a spatula, adding the finished flat piece of heaven onto a stack about a foot high. "Alfred, go ahead and take some before they get cold," Matthew said off-handedly. Alfred grabbed the top three cakes and proceeded to smother them with sugary maple syrup.

The twins' mother came down, still dressed in her pajamas, a robe thrown over the top. As long as the twins could remember, she'd worn the fuzzy terry cloth robe to breakfast. She sat down at the table, and stole Alfred's plate of pancakes when her older son went back to the fridge to fetch the orange juice. "Hey!" Alfred complained, pouting a bit. "Well, fine. Want some orange juice to go with your stolen hotcakes?"

"Yes, please," she responded, smiling mischievously. It was no mystery where Alfred he gotten his personality from, that was for sure. Alfred rolled his eyes and poured three glasses of juice, setting them out on the table. Alfred fixed himself up another plate, again using up far too much syrup. Matthew continued flipping pancakes for a few minutes before joining his brother and mother.

The family ate in silence for a few minutes, intent on enjoying their breakfast. After they had staved off their grumbling stomachs a bit, they began talking amongst themselves.

"I can't believe you boys are so grown up already," Kimberly sighed. "Nearly eighteen years old."

"There's still a month to go, Mom," Matthew pointed out before taking another bite of food.

"Thirty days, sixteen hours, five minutes, and forty-three seconds," Alfred said without pausing, still eating pancakes at an alarmingly fast speed. Matthew and Kimberly stared at Alfred for a few seconds in stunned silence before they both burst into peals of laughter. "What?" Alfred asked, confused.

"You," Matthew laughed, hiccupping slightly.

"How on Earth did you calculate that so fast?" Kimberly giggled, holding her stomach in pain.

Alfred narrowed his eyes at his family. "Hmph. Well it wasn't too hard, if you can go by military time. Besides, I guessed on the seconds."

For some reason, that made the other two blonde family members laugh harder, their eyes watering from laughing so hard.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Alfred crossed off another day on his calendar. June 4th - a month before his birthday. The day before the Fourth of July - which had to be the most awesome birthday ever - was marked with an asterisk. His father was arriving in town then, driving in from Boston after the flight from Los Angeles. Arthur was on his window seat, gazing out at the window as the sun started to climb above the horizon to the East. Today was the day they were going to begin planting Arthur's 'presents'.

Alfred changed out of his pajama pants into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, ready for another day of yard work. Most of the rosebushes were planted, but he still had to go around and get the compost prepared and spread out among the flowers. After he'd finished with that, Alfred planned on exploring the woods Northeast of the house. He'd always enjoyed taking walks in the Redwood Forests back in California. Though the trees here weren't anywhere near as large, there was still a nice patch of untamed land here for him to explore.

Arthur leaned his head against the glass of the window, letting out a slow breath.

"Something wrong, Artie?" Alfred called over his shoulder, buckling his belt.

"Nothing," Arthur assured him. "Just... tired. Very tired."

"Why do you think that is?" Alfred stared at Arthur for a few moments. "Maybe my awesome kissing skills are just too much for you to handle!" he laughed, grinning widely.

Arthur turned a neat shade of pink. "No, it bloody well was _not_ your 'awesome' kissing skills," he grumbled darkly. "I'm always tired around this time of year."

"Why's that?" Alfred questioned, running a comb through his hair. As always, he couldn't quite get all of it to lie down - the part in his bangs always had a stubborn strand that refused to stay where it belonged, as far back as he could remember.

"Well..."

"You don't remember, like everything else?" Alfred teased.

"It was around this time of year I died," Arthur said quietly, not removing his gaze from the window.

For once, Alfred shut up. After nearly a full minute of silence, he moved closer to Arthur, perching himself on the window seat next to the dead boy. He reached out, hesitating slightly, wondering why he was even bothering to try touching Arthur outside the In-Between. He laid a hand on Arthur's shoulder. He sunk slightly into Arthur, but there was a bit of resistance - as if Arthur were the consistency of Jell-O. It was unexpected, and he jerked his hand back. He'd assumed that he would simply pass right through Arthur.

Arthur glanced towards him shortly before looking back out the window. "It's all right. You didn't know."

Alfred kicked at the floor, disliking the current situation, but still somehow curious. "What... day did you die?"

"...It was nighttime. I'm not sure how late, really. On July fourth."

Alfred winced slightly. "On my birthday, huh...? Seems rather harsh."

Arthur looked over at him. "...It was a long time ago," he stated decidedly. "So it's okay. I think... It might be okay to share more of my memories with you. For you to know more about me. Maybe... Maybe if I tell you about it, I'll be able to remember more about what happened to me the night I died. Maybe I'll remember the person I forgot."

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Titiana gently wove her way through the thick underbrush of the forest. She'd walked this path countless times before, but it still hit her hard each time she retraced her steps from all those years ago. Granted, she had been running then, sprinting as fast as she could.

Though she hadn't been fast enough. She hadn't gotten there in time.

She stopped at the base of a large tree - _the _tree, really. Guiltily, she laid a small bouquet of flowers on the roots of the ancient oak. She tried to hold back tears, but as with every other time, she failed miserably. It was times like this that she wished she were allowed to interfere with the lives of humans. She wished that she could lead someone - _anyone_ - to this spot. She wished that she could find another Arthur, another person gifted with the Sight that allowed them to see creatures such as herself. She could bring them here, and at least try to begin making up for her mistakes.

She wiped away the stubborn tears that escaped her eyes - she was Queen. She couldn't allow herself to cry.

But it had all been her fault. Oh God, even if she denied it, she knew it was true. She should have stopped him. Everything that had happened that summer in 1842 had been her fault, and all the blame rested on her shoulders.


	7. Chapter 7

**Soul Mate**

**A/N: Thanks again to all my reviewers! I'm glad everyone has been enjoying this story so far. I'm not sure exactly how long this will be, but it will probably be between fifteen and twenty chapters. I have the rest of the story line plotted out, and just need to sit myself down and write it.**

**I really want to apologize for how long this chapter took to get out... I had visitation with my dad! DX**

**I was asked by a reader if I was mis-spelling Titania's name with Titiana's. Titiana's name is spelled as intentioned, and is based off of Titania's (for those who don't know, Titania is the queen of the fairies in Shakespeare's play **_**A Midsummer Night's Dream**_**). I give Daisychain a salute, because they answered the next question I was going to ask for a request: "What Shakespeare character's name is similar to Titiana's, with a one-letter difference?" So now I have to come up with a new one. XD**

**All right, on to something I found absolutely AWESOME. MemoirOfaPirate has done a fan art for Soul Mate, and it's absolutely GORGEOUS. XD I think that once someone has done artwork based off of your writings, you've made it in the fan fiction world. I'm so thankful that she did this piece (as well as the promotion her picture brought to the story xD), and as a small token a gratitude, I'm dedicating this chapter to her! Thank you so much!**

**Also, if anyone wants to do fan art for this or any of my stories, feel free! I simply ask that you link back to the original story or credit me, as well as send me a link so I can see it. =P**

**This will be one of two chapters detailing the first half of Arthur's memories - the second half will be posted as soon as possible!**

**I hope you enjoy the next chapter!**

**Chapter Seven**

Arthur was sitting next to Alfred. They'd gone back into his In-Between, where Arthur felt more comfortable, and where they would be less likely to be interrupted. Whereas Alfred sitting on his bed, talking to something that wasn't there would be beyond strange, finding Alfred slacking off on a Friday and sleeping in his room wouldn't be out of the ordinary.

Alfred adjusted his sitting position so that he was facing the green-eyed Briton. "I'm not going to force you to share your memories with me if you don't want to," he reminded him.

Arthur shook his head. "I think it might help. Really. I mean it."

Alfred nodded slightly. They both closed their eyes, and Alfred took Arthur's hands in his. Tentatively, they both reached out towards the force that had joined their minds when they first met. They fell into it easily, like slipping into a heated swimming pool, and Arthur began showing Alfred his memories, as if showing him a page from an old book.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_Arthur was five. His mother was holding him, rocking him to sleep. His forehead burned with a fever, and his breaths came in rapidly, the sound raspy and weak. Alice Kirkland brought her son closer to her, humming a soothing melody in her son's ear. Arthur's small hands clenched at her shirt as he whimpered in his half-asleep state. Softly, she began to sing, trying to calm her child as much as she could, even with the sickness that ravaged his small body, threatening to take him away from her._

"In the light of the full harvest moon,

I continue searching for what I've lost.

Deep in the forest is where

You shall find me,

Wandering in the dark.

As I continue to wander about,

I find a place of magical wonder.

What is this place I have stumbled upon?

I watch as the dancing begins.

What was it that I was searching for?

Where was it that I was heading for?

I can't find the path back anymore,

I wonder, what am I forgetting?

My conscience begins to falter;

I know I am forgetting something dear.

But the charming Prince of the Chandra Mahal

Has asked me to dance a graceful Waltz with him.

Drowning in this wondrous party,

I soon forget even myself.

And it isn't until too late that I realize,

Who my dancing partner is.

The thing for which I have searched so long,

My child who was spirited away.

I break away from my dancing partner,

Knowing that time to find my love is up.

The Sidhe disguised as the beautiful Prince

Laughs at my efforts, proclaiming:

'' ''Tis midnight, and time is already up:

Your love now no longer belongs in your arms.' "

_Alice kissed her baby boy's forehead, brushing back the sweaty blonde hair that had matted itself to his face. "Come on now, Arthur dear... Be strong for mummy," she murmured._

_Arthur murmured something that his mother couldn't quite make out. Alice propped Arthur up with one arm, and gently held a glass of medicinal tea to her son's lips with the other. "Come on. You have to drink." Arthur's hand shakily went up over his mother's, guiding it as he tried to swallow it weakly. Swallowing hurt - it felt as if razor blades were going down his throat rather than medicine that would soothe his fever and hopefully help him heal._

_Alice helped her son lay on his back, still petting hair out of Arthur's face. "Get some sleep, love. It should all be better in the morning."_

_Arthur tried to smile at his mother, but looked the wrong way, instead looking at the wall. Disoriented by his fever and by the damage the sickness was wreaking on his small body, Arthur's beautiful green eyes had lost their ability to see. The world, which had once been so bright and vibrant for the little boy before, now held nothing but blackness. Alice almost cried; because of her delicate health, she knew another pregnancy would, in all likelihood, kill her. But the one child she had managed to produce, after three miscarriages and two false alarms, for her husband was now disabled._

_"...Mum...?"_

_"Yes, Arthur?" she asked, trying to sound optimistic._

_"Am I dying?" Arthur asked quietly._

_Alice stiffened. "No, Artie," she said quietly. "You're very sick, but you won't die."_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_Soon after that, Arthur was beginning to become independent again, relying on his senses of hearing and touch to get himself around. A few weeks after he'd finally recovered from his illness, he'd managed to escape the house, making his way into the small garden his mother had in the back of the house. Though he obviously couldn't see, he led himself along the outer wall of the house, feeling the way ahead of him with his feet._

_He stopped, hearing tinkling laughter ahead of him. "Hello?"_

_"Oh!"_

_Arthur jumped at the sound of surprise. It came from right in front of him._

_"Can you see us?" a small voice asked. The sound was extremely close, as if the speaker were right in front of him._

_"I can't see anything," Arthur responded truthfully._

_"Not a thing?" the small voice responded._

_"I suppose you can hear us, though. I wonder why that is?" a second voice, similar to the first asked, wonderingly._

_"The blind have to use their other senses to make up for their lack of sight," the first responded. "Perhaps he's just listening more now than he was before."_

_"But he can't _see_ us... That's too bad. We'll have to fix that, won't we?"_

_"You can't," Arthur said simply, shrugging. "Mom already talked to the doctor. I'm blind... I was very sick, and the fever made my eyes not work."_

_"Don't worry," the first laughed. "Fixing your eyes shouldn't be a problem!"_

_"We've been watching over you since you were born. The Princess took a liking to you, since you're the only child of your mother. Princess Titiana always adored Alice, and wanted her child safe. You're a Chime Child__**1**__, so we were sure you could see us. Turns out we were wrong, though."_

_"You should know, though, that if we help you see again, you will see things you didn't see before," the first voice warned. "Though you would have probably eventually been able to see Fae because you were born at midnight... With eyes fixed by us, you'll be able to see the lingering souls of humans, as well."_

_"That's all right," Arthur responded without thinking. If he could see again, it would make his mother happy, wouldn't it? She'd been crying ever since the doctor had said there was nothing that could be done about his loss of sight._

_"If you say so," the first voice responded, sounding slightly resigned._

_Arthur could tell there was something in front of his face now. "Close your eyes," one of the small Fae ordered. He obeyed, eyelids covering dull green irises._

_He felt small hands press against his eyelids, and felt a cool sensation spread out from the first point of contact, spreading throughout his body. He shuddered a bit, opening his eyes again._

_He closed them again, nearly immediately, blinded by the harsh light of the outdoors after his weeks of banishment in darkness. He blinked a few times. "I can see...?" he murmured to himself._

_He looked down, and his eyes widened. His jaw dropped, and he was just barely able to suppress the urge to shout in surprise. In front of him were two real Fae, both small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. "You're real," he whispered._

_"Of course we're real," the one on the right, the second one who had spoken to him, exclaimed. She was dressed in what appeared to be rose petals, held together with small strips of some kind of other plant matter. "I'm Amaryllis, and this is Lyra." She motioned to the Fae next to her, who was self-consciously twirling her skirt of lily petals. "You can call me Ama for short, though."_

_Arthur watched as the small faeries made themselves comfortable on his shoulder. "We've been with you since you were a baby, Arthur," Lyra said, smiling softly. "You may not have seen us, but we were there. Now, shouldn't you go tell your mother the good news?" the quieter of the two Fae suggested._

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_Arthur didn't like the doctor. His hands were cold, he never smiled, and he had an air about him that slightly scared the small boy. Again, the doctor stuck an instrument Arthur couldn't name too close to his eyes, shining a light onto them, peering into his pupils. "There's no reason for his sight to be back," the doctor stated. "The level of damage was far too great to have healed at all, let alone this rapidly."_

_"I told you, the Fae healed it," Arthur said impatiently, looking towards his mother. "I can see, so why did you call the doctor? There's nothing wrong with me."_

_Alice smiled, ruffling her son's hair affectionately. "I think the doctor's finished with you for now, Arthur," she said. "Go ahead and play."_

_Arthur frowned, but obeyed his mother and left the room. She stayed behind, talking with the doctor for nearly an hour, while he kept himself busy in the yard._

_The doctor's visits continued for a year after. Periodically, the old man would come to their house to 'check up' on Arthur. His checkup usually involved a large amount of bright light being poured into his miraculously healed eyes, and in one case, a hook being used to look under his eyelids - a rather painful experience Arthur had no desire to repeat._

_"He's still claiming that faeries are the cause for his eyes healing?"_

_Arthur stopped outside the door to the kitchen, recognizing the doctor's voice. He peered in through a crack left between the door and the wall, watching as the doctor sat across the table from his mother, sipping a cup of tea. His mother's cup lay next to her folded hands, untouched. "Yes," she responded. "But he's so little... I'm sure he just has an overactive imagination."_

_The doctor shook his head. "Mrs. Kirkland, that's not what I'm getting at here. Arthur is very lucky to have regained his sight, but... I'm afraid the fever may have affected him in other ways."_

_"What are you saying?" Alice asked quietly. Her entire body had gone rigid, her breath catching and her eyes widening._

_"I'm saying that he sincerely _believes_ that Fae, non-existent creatures, healed him. I'm sorry to say, but I think the fever may have addled with his mind. Though I believe that these hallucinations may have occurred even before his bought of sickness, and were simply made worse by the high fever he ran."_

_Alice gasped slightly, covering her mouth with a hand. "My Arthur isn't _crazy_," she hissed dangerously. _

_"I'm not saying that, Mrs. Kirkland. He merely has—"_

_"Get out."_

_"Ma'am, I'm trying to help your son."_

_"Get out!" Alice stood up, slamming her hands on the table. She was trembling. "Arthur is a normal little boy!" she yelled. "My baby was sick, and now you're turning his fanciful childhood playtime into a mental illness? I'll be damned before I let my little boy be locked up with loons and crazies!"_

_The doctor sighed. "As you wish, Mrs. Kirkland. But I want you to seriously contemplate your son's mental state."_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_Arthur was nine years old. His mother and father were packing their bags, getting ready to go to America. His father had built a house in Massachusetts, and Arthur's entire family was moving there._

_Everyone except for Arthur, at least._

_Alice knelt down, kissing her son's forehead. Arthur wiped it off - big boys didn't receive kisses from their mothers. Duff had told him so. Alice laughed a bit, and hugged her little boy close to her. "Ah, Arthur, I'll miss you. I'll write all the time, you'll see. It will be as if I'm not even gone."_

_Arthur decided that big boys could at least hug their mothers, if not kiss them. He wrapped his arms around his mother's neck, trying to hold back tears - big boys didn't cry, after all. "I'll write every day," he promised. "Promise you'll take care of yourself?"_

_"I promise," she laughed. "Though that's more my line, Arthur. I want you to be good for your teachers, and listen to the dean. All right?"_

_"Yes," Arthur replied, looking down at his feet. There was a pause where nothing was exchanged between the two family members._

_Arthur threw himself into his mother's arms suddenly, crying slightly. "I don't want you to go," he cried, clinging to his mother's shirt. He hadn't been separated from his mother for longer than a week for as long as he remembered. The thought of his mother going to America, leaving him in a strange place in England under the care of strangers, was terrifying._

_Alice kissed her son's forehead again. This time, he didn't move to wipe it off. "It's all right, Arthur. I'll see you around Christmas."_

_"You promise?"_

_"I promise," she smiled._

_"Cross your heart and hope to die?"_

_Alice laughed, hugging her son again. "Yes, Arthur. Cross my heart, hope to die."_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_Christmases came and went, as did birthdays and Easters. Briefly, his mother had stopped by in England on her way to France with Arthur's father to wish him a happy Christmas when he was ten, but he hadn't seen her since then. They exchanged letters often - hardly a day went when Arthur didn't receive a letter faintly smelling of his mother's perfume, her feminine, loopy handwriting spelling out the address of the school and his name on the envelope. Arthur always made a point to reply to every single letter his mother sent to him._

_Arthur had recently celebrated his twelfth birthday. He received a letter expressing her happy wishes towards him, telling him how proud she was of his high marks, and how she was sure he would be allowed to come over to America soon, provided his father agreed._

_It was the last letter her received from his mother._

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_Two more years without a word from his mother passed. Arthur was fourteen years old now, no longer a child. He was growing into a teenager, his body becoming awkward and gangly. He was growing in height before his body had a chance to catch up in weight, and, as a consequence, he was scrawny for his age, though he held more power in his thin frame than one would expect. He was still short, as well - a fact that never ceased to bother him._

_Arthur leaned against the railing of the ship, taking a deep breath of the sea breeze. He was nearing the end of his journey to the New World, going to meet up with his father in Boston, finally leaving the hellish boys' boarding school in England. He swore, the nuns there had been out to get him, always chasing after him with the yardsticks always on their person. He wasn't a troublemaker - it just seemed that every time he did something slightly out of the school regulations, such as walking around with his shirt untucked, one of them was right behind him, eyes steely and unforgiving._

_He could see land now, and watched as the small, toy-sized city that he knew lay in America became larger as they got closer. The boat made its way into Boston Harbor, and Arthur continued to watch the bustle around him. Fishermen tossed nets into the sea, pulling in large schools of cod and other fish Arthur couldn't name; a few fishermen battled with a tangled net, while a third worked on sorting the fish, tossing the small or unwanted sea creatures from the catch over the side of the boat._

_They docked soon afterwards, and Arthur was forced to undergo another medical checkup to make sure he was fit to come onto American soil. The examiner had been paid by Arthur's father to come down from New York and save him the trouble of having to travel all the way to the large northern city to pick up his son. Arthur endured an irritatingly long list of tests, testing everything from his heart and breathing rates to the thrice-damned hook in his eye again. He'd thought he'd escaped that particular test when his mother had fired their doctor when he had been a child, but apparently, he was wrong._

_After being pronounced healthy, Arthur made his way down the gangplank, looking around for someone familiar._

_"Arthur!"_

_He could barely see a flash of curly red hair before his sister had him in a crushing hug, his head now squashed up against her chest, which was finally starting to become bigger as she continued to get older. She was three years older than he was, nearly a woman already, with a curvy figure and a mass of curls that she never could quite tame. "Oh, Arthur, I'm so glad you got here safely," she cooed, rocking her baby brother back and forth in a hug._

_"You're spoiling him, Fiona," someone drawled, their accent slightly different than his sibling's._

_"Oh, forget you, Duff," Fiona scoffed. "He's still little."_

_"I'm fourteen years old, Fiona," Arthur muttered, his cheeks darkening._

_Fiona pouted a bit. "Come on, now, Arthur... I haven't seen you since you were nine. None of us have."_

_"He was a right pain when he was nine."_

_"Shut up, Patrick," Fiona snapped. She still hadn't released Arthur from her chokehold around his neck._

_"Fiona, I can't breathe."_

_Fiona released her brother with a surprised sound. "Oh, I'm sorry... Are you alright?"_

_"I'm fine."_

_Arthur endured more loving abuse from his siblings for the next few moments - Duff punched him in the arm hard enough to make the appendage go numb. Patrick put him into a headlock, made a fist, and rubbed it across his head, messing up his already flyaway hair. Delwyn, the one closest to Arthur in age, simply shoved him, nearly knocking him off the pier, before pulling his brother into a hug, going on about how much he'd missed him._

_"Come on now, we're on a schedule."_

_Arthur looked up at his father's voice. "Hello, Father."_

_"Arthur." Arthur's father nodded slightly, curtly. Arthur had inherited little to none of his father's physical characteristics other than his eyebrows, instead taking after his mother. Whereas Arthur was light-skinned (he burned if he was out in the sun far too easily for his taste) and fair-haired, with emerald eyes and almost delicate features, his father was solidly build, with dark hair and eyes, and a slight tan._

_"So this is your son in England."_

_Arthur looked at the woman next to his father. She was holding onto his arm, as if she were an accessory. Balanced on her hip was a small baby, with blonde hair and the same bushy eyebrows as his father. He was around one year of age, and bore a resemblance to the woman holding him. "Father?"_

_"This is your stepmother, Belinda," William Kirkland responded. "And your half-brother, Peter."_

_Arthur's eyes widened. For his father to have re-married, that meant his mother would have had to... "Where is mother?" he asked, voice raspy._

_His father ignored his question, instead consulting his pocket watch for the time. "We're going to miss our train to Atlanta if we don't get to the station soon. Let's be off."_

_"Father, where is she?" Arthur asked, his voice rising in pitch slightly._

_Fiona put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "She passed away two years ago, Arthur. Didn't Father tell you?"_

_Arthur felt faint. "She's..." He swayed on his feet slightly. "H-How?"_

_"She got sick," Patrick said quietly. "Very sick. She always was delicate."_

_Arthur was led from the pier to the waiting carriage. The large family piled into it, slightly cramped. Belinda looked at Arthur, as if interested. "You look like Alice."_

_"Yes," Arthur responded weakly._

_Belinda didn't respond at first, instead busying herself with Peter, who was fussing and pulling at his mother's hair. A few of her hairpins fell out, falling to the floor. Belinda sighed in exasperation. "Hold him for a moment," she said, handing the small child to Arthur._

_Arthur took him, slightly surprised, but balanced Peter on his lap._

_Peter looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed, before he reached up, lightly fingering Arthur's cheekbones, just below his eyes. Arthur stared at the small child in front of him. The hand went to his hair, fingers running through the silky strands before taking a hold and _yanking_. Arthur yelled in surprise, pushing the child away from him._

_Belinda laughed a bit, taking her child back from Arthur. "I'm sorry. He's just very curious."_

_Arthur rubbed his sore scalp, glaring at Peter. "...I see," he managed to respond. "Curious."_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_Arthur was fifteen now. He'd holed himself up in his room, surrounded by soothing shades of green, in an attempt to get away from the miniature terror known as Peter. For some unknown reason, the babe had taken it upon himself to make Arthur miserable. Now, with the ability to walk and run, Peter was twice as bad. Arthur heard a loud _thump_ as Peter kicked the door to his room, yelling at the door. "Arth!" he yelled, complainingly. He had been unable to pronounce the last syllable of Arthur's name when he was smaller. Now, Arthur assumed he continued calling him that because he was aware that it irritated him._

_"What, Peter?" he asked, rubbing his temples._

_"Come out!" he yelled. "'S not fair, lockin' the door!"_

_"If you speak proper English, perhaps I'll think about it," Arthur retorted._

_Peter growled in irritation, gave the abused door to Arthur's bedroom one last kick, and wandered off down the hall. Arthur shook his head. It was times like this that he hated living in America. He almost wished that he had been left to rot in England. Then again, he wouldn't have been allowed to visit his mother's grave if that had happened._

_He glanced out the window of his room, leaning against the wall of his bay window. Will-o'-the-wisps and Fae alike were floating around outside, a few brave souls even venturing into his room._

_"Arthur?"_

_Arthur looked up, blinking. A larger than average Fae was standing next to him. She had long, silvery-gray hair, and purple eyes. she was dressed in silk from head to toe, along with jewelry of exquisite craftsmanship. Arthur knew this was no ordinary Fae. She was young, physically in her early twenties or late teens. Arthur knew that age wasn't relative to the Fae, however - she could be thousands of years old, and he'd never know the difference. "Ma'am?"_

_She smiled. "Titiana," she offered. "Please call me Titiana."_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_Arthur was sitting on the roof of the house. He'd managed to climb out of his window, shimmying across the windowsill until he came to an eve where he could pull himself up on top of it. He lay back against the rough tile of the slant, gazing up at the thousands of stars above him. As with every night, balls of light danced above him, some playful, some mournful, some without any meaning at all. Titiana was seated next to him, speaking wistfully of the Fae's world._

_"I know you would love it, Arthur," she breathed. "It's absolutely beautiful. We all know what love is there," she said. "We all know that there are such things as true love, as soul mates... We understand and appreciated each other's differences."_

_"It sounds perfect," Arthur responded, smiling lightly. It made him feel a little disdainful of his world - intolerance and hatred were all too common._

_"It has its down points," Titiana admitted. "Just like how there is war here, there is sometimes war there. There has to be balance. We're only human... sort of, anyways. Nothing is absolute; nothing is without a dark side. But we don't ignore the light side, like humans do. For humans, things seem to always be black or white, right or wrong. That isn't right."_

_Arthur closed his eyes. "The world is made of shades of gray."_

_"Exactly." Titiana smiled. "I knew you would understand, Arthur. You truly are a Chime Child. Embracing everything that humans refuse to accept. Your soul mate will be very lucky to have someone like you."_

_Arthur glanced at her. "You know who my soul mate is?"_

_Titiana nodded, smiling knowingly. "But I can't tell you who it is. It's something you have to discover for yourself."_

_"Arthur!" Arthur glanced down, towards his window. He could hear someone knocking on his bedroom door, which he had locked earlier. "Arthur, I know you're in there!" Duff. "Damn it, stop being a hermit and come play a card game with us!"_

_"We've barely talked since you visited your mother's grave, Arthur!" Fiona called from next to Duff._

_Arthur sat up, standing carefully. "I'm coming!" he called. He took a few steps towards his window before swinging down, holding onto the eve of the roof while he searched for the windowsill with his feet. Finding it, he lowered himself onto it, putting his weight on the front half of his feet, trying to hold himself steady on the thin slat of wood that jutted out from behind his bay window._

_He pulled the window open, and heard a crack. The next thing he knew, the sill he had been standing on splintered beneath his feet, and gravity took its course. He screamed, his fingers scrambling to hold onto the splintered remains._

_"Arthur?" Fiona sounded frantic. "Arthur, are you okay?"_

_"I think I heard something break," Duff breathed._

_"Arthur!"_

_Arthur felt his fingers slipping. He glanced down, his breath coming in short and fast. The height was dizzying. "T-Titiana!"_

_The Fae Princess looked down at him, purple eyes wide with fright. "Arthur! Arthur, hold on...!"_

_"Oh God!" Arthur heard Delwyn's voice beneath him. "Duff! Get out here! He's going to fall!"_

_Arthur's fingers slipped another centimeter. He could feel blood pour from small cuts in his fingers and palms, slick and wet, making holding on a harder task._

_His grip gave way, and he fell, heart pounding, scream caught in his throat._

_Titiana held out her hand, as if wanting to catch him. On the way down, he hit another part of the roof, slowing his fall somewhat, but knocking the wind out of him._

_He heard rather than felt an audible _crunch_ as he landed. His leg was bent at a strange angle, underneath him. He was cut up, bruised, and had broken at least his leg. His chest hurt when he breathed. He moaned in pain, closing his eyes tightly in an effort to ignore it._

_Delwyn ran over, kneeling at his side. Arthur could hear a commotion as his other siblings filed out of the door. "Duff, Fiona...! Someone, go get Dad! Get a doctor! Anything! Artie's hurt!"_

_"...Titiana..."_

_"What?"_

_"Tell Titiana I'm all right..."_

_"Who's Titiana?" Delwyn asked, patting Arthur's cheeks. "Come on, Artie, stay awake. Who's Titiana?"_

_"...Fae Princess..." Arthur managed to breath out, shuddering from the pain talking caused him._

_Delwyn looked at his brother, eyebrows furrowing in worry. "They said he believed in faeries, but... I didn't think he really _did..._"_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_Arthur thought he had hated doctors before. He hadn't known what it meant to hate before he was locked away in this hellhole._

_"How are you feeling today, Arthur?"_

_Arthur didn't give the nurse the pleasure of a response. She knew how he was. His entire body ached from yesterday's so-called 'therapy', and he knew he had another 'session' this afternoon. He watched as she continued to chatter on about meaningless things that he didn't give a damn about. She laid his food - all finger food, they didn't trust him with forks or spoons - on the table near his bed, and began attempting to get him to talk with her._

_"Come on now, Arthur. You never leave your room. Don't you want to go to the garden outside? Go for a walk?"_

_Arthur simply stared at her evenly. No, he didn't want to go outside. The Fae he knew were outside waiting for him. They would see him; see how he had changed. They'd be worried sick, unable to deal with the guilt that they were indirectly responsible for what had happened to him._

_She continued trying to convince him to talk for nearly ten minutes before giving up and moving onto the next patient's cell. The boy in there believed he was a glass of orange juice, and that if anyone touched him, he'd spill. If you asked Arthur, it was _that_ sort of person that belonged here, not himself._

_Arthur gazed at the slab of polished stainless steel on the wall across from him. A boy with gaunt features looked back at him. Once shiny, silky blonde hair now lay limp and dull. Skin that had once been porcelain-like in color and texture was now pale in a sickly way, from lack of sun proper food. His cheeks had sunken in slightly, giving his face a haunted, gaunt look._

_The only part of him that hadn't really changed was his eyes. Though they had heavy circles underneath them from lack of sleep (something he blamed on the poor excuse of a bed he was given here), they were still a bright, sparkling green - just as his mother's had been._

_He rubbed an arm, which was nearly skeletal in its skinniness now. He'd always been thin, to the point of concern, but the amount of weight he'd lost during his stay here was enough to worry most people who saw him._

_He ignored the food the nurse had brought him, instead preferring to go back onto the thin mattress of his bed, curling up into a ball, closing his eyes, and attempting to get some sleep. His body would need all the rest it could get._

_As he expected, two nurses came to fetch him for his afternoon therapy session within an hour. They ignored the untouched food, instead waking Arthur from his light nap and escorting him down the long hall, past people that were considered menaces to society, the unwanted children of wealthy businessmen that suffered from nothing but a case of autism, or simply had been abandoned here as a way to hide evidence of mistresses from jealous wives. He was being kept in the children's ward, though he was nearly an adult himself._

_"Arthur, welcome back. How are you feeling today?"_

_As with the nurse earlier, Arthur opted not to respond to his question. The doctor sighed, realizing that, as usual, Arthur was not in a talkative mood. Instead, the fifteen year old glared at him with pure malice, green eyes flashing dangerously. He knew that Arthur was intelligent. Unlike many of the other patients here, he was fairly sane - with the single exception of the 'faeries' he claimed to see. He knew how to solve Arthur's sickness. Arthur had too much to offer society to continue seeing hallucinations and hearing voices, and so the new therapy technique he'd recently heard of should do the trick._

_Arthur continued glaring at the doctor as the nurses hooked him up to a machine, sticking wires to his chest, their hands cold under his shirt. This had become routine by now, and he was used to being rigged up like a marionette puppet._

_"So, Arthur... Have you talked to Titiana lately?"_

_Arthur stared back at him coolly. "You're going to get the same answers as you got yesterday, Doctor. I can't talk to them if they can't get into the bloody institution."_

_"They're figments of your imagination, Arthur," the doctor replied evenly. "They can be wherever you want them to be."_

_"I wish I had that kind of control over you."_

_The doctor stared at him in what appeared to be a calm manner, but Arthur saw the telltale twitch in his left eye that showed he was now irritated. A wry smile came to his face. This hellish place may be his prison, but at least he could give his Warden hell. Before, when he'd had a female nurse doing his interrogations, he'd actually made her cry – this, sadly, had been the highlight of his stay thus far. But that did not matter now._

_He knew that the doctor would simply flip the switch if he pressed his luck too far, but he wasn't too worried. The worst that could happen would be the off chance that the shock killed him - and at this point, that was actually sounding better than sitting in his room while listening to the girl across the hall sing "I'm A Little Teapot" at three in the morning or the boy next door who yelled at nurses who touched him, saying he'd 'spill'._

_As usual, the doctor asked him questions he already knew the answers to. Arthur answered 'incorrectly', and received a shock as punishment. Many of the other patients that were put to test in this manner became like Pavlov's dogs. In the end, they always ended up simply answering with the desired response, simply to avoid the pain caused by the electroshock therapy__**2**__. Arthur, however, was more stubborn, completely convinced of his sanity - there was no way one could force him to believe himself insane. In his mind, if one doubted their own sanity, then that meant they were already far-gone._

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_"Arthur, you have a visitor."_

_Arthur forced himself to sit up, feeling slightly surprised. It was only Tuesday. Fiona and his brothers only visited on Fridays or Saturdays - and even then, Duff only came if the others dragged him. Having one of their family members in the "loony bin", as Duff so gently put it, wasn't exactly a positive mark on them. His body ached from his earlier bout of therapy, and it begged him to just lie down and sleep._

_The nurse stepped aside, and a tall, lithe girl walked in. Her long hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and her striking violet eyes instantly tipped Arthur off to her identity. He stared at her, knowing his mouth was hanging open. How could they see her? Hear her? As she walked past the nurse, he even saw the nurse bump into her, apologizing quietly._

_"Ti-"_

_"You can leave us alone now," Titiana told the nurse. "Arthur isn't dangerous." She smiled._

_The nurse hesitated for a few moments before nodding. "All right... I'll be right outside the door, in case you need anything," she said, giving another glance towards Arthur. She'd been taking care of him for the past few months, and had never seen him violent. She had no reason to believe that the teenage boy in front of her, though snarky and rather cold, would harm his visitor._

_After she had left, Titiana made herself comfortable on the side of Arthur's bed. "Well, Arthur. We've been quite worried about you," she said, as if scolding a child. "You haven't contacted anyone since you were put in here."_

_"I apologize."_

_Titiana shook her head. "No. There's no reason to. I managed to ask her about your therapy, and... God, Arthur, what the hell do you think you're doing?" She looked at him, her expression a mixture of anger and grief. "You know we would forgive you if you denounced our existence! They're hurting you!"_

_"So you'd rather I betray you."_

_"Arthur, the damage they'll do to you might be permanent," she tried to reason. "I already see how stiff your movements are. You're hurting right now. Damn it, why are you so stubborn?" She ran a hand through her hair, looking stressed. "We love you, Arthur. Even if it means you have to say we're figments of your imagination, to say that you don't see us anymore - it's worth it."_

_"I'm not going to lie to him."_

_"Do it for our sake, then," Titiana pleaded, losing her patience. "Do you have any idea how terrified I was when I watched them take you away? I didn't even know you were alive until last month!"_

_Arthur winced. He could ignore comments like that from his family, but coming from Titiana was another story. "I'm sorry."_

_"So you'll do it?"_

_Arthur didn't respond at first._

_"...I'm giving you permission, Arthur. Say you never saw us. Say we don't exist. Anything you have to say to get out of this hellhole. If not for your own sake, for mine."_

_"...All right."_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

**A/N: A few notes:**

**(1): Chime Child - a child born on the stroke of midnight; Chime Children are said to see things that normal humans are unable to sense, such as the dead, Fae, etc.**

**(2) Electroshock therapy - Though electroshock therapy really wasn't used in the treatment of mental illness until the early twentieth century, I decided to ignore history (shocking, considering this is a Hetalia fic XD) and use it anyways. I did, however, make sure to do my research to make sure electricity was even AROUND for this kind of thing. William Watson figured out how currents and circuits worked in 1747, and Arthur was put into the institution in 1840. Therefore, I say there was plenty of time, and I am sticking with that story. So there. XD**


	8. Chapter 8

**Soul Mate**

**A/N: Once again, thank you for the reviews!**

**I've decided that I'm going to grant a request to the 100th reviewer, provided that they're a signed-in user. If not, it will go to the 101st, and so on… I actually probably started and re-started this chapter about three times. _;;**

**Has anyone seen the clips released of the Hetalia dub yet? I think England sounds HILARIOUS! I love America, too, of course… XP I love England's version of "Hattefutte Parade", too.**

**I'm sorry this took so long to get out. DX As a bit of an apology, I tried to make it a bit longer… Nearly four thousand words! I feel proud of that accomplishment, somehow...**

**I also lied – the next chapter's going to have the FINAL bit of Arthur's memories, I promise. XD**

**Please enjoy the next chapter of Soul Mate!**

**Chapter Eight**

_Arthur was sitting in the corner of the recreational room, a book of William Shakespeare's sonnets opened to Sonnet 130 on his lap. He read silently to himself, the lines of the poem committing themselves to memory._

_He looked up when he saw one of the nurses walk towards him, her air businesslike, unlike her coworkers, who were currently busying themselves by playing cards and checkers with the inmates. "Mr. Kirkland?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_You're late for your therapy session," She stated. "You should have been in Dr. Roberts' office an hour and a half ago."_

"_I suppose it just slipped my mind." Arthur licked a finger, turning the page in his book. "Though, maybe I deliberately chose not to go to another session in Hell."_

"_Arthur." The nurse was not amused. "You know better than this. Come on, now. You still have an hour left of your session, and you're going to it."_

_Arthur growled in irritation as his book was taken away. He was led down the hall by an escort of the female nurse, who was currently in possession of his sonnets, and two male guards. Within minutes, he was sitting on an overly-plush chair, which threatened to eat him if he sat too far back in it._

"_So, Arthur, how have you been?" Arthur didn't deign to answer him. The doctor cleared his throat. "Well… I suppose we're a little late, aren't we?"_

"_I was reading."_

"_Were you now?"_

"_Yes. And then you interrupted me. I'd appreciate it if you gave me back my book and allow me to finish it."_

"_Arthur, you know you have to come to your therapy sessions."_

"_So you can stick wires in me and continue attempting to cook me as if I were a Thanksgiving turkey? I think not."_

_Dr. Roberts sighed, shaking his head. "Arthur, we realize that the therapy is not a… desirable—"_

"_Damn straight it's not desirable." Arthur crossed his legs, folding his hands in his lap. "I thought that I had already made my position apparent, but evidently, you don't think me sane enough to know that being wired up and electrocuted as if I were some kind of bloody science experiment is a bad thing."_

"_We understand that the electroshock therapy—"Arthur scoffed, mentally replacing the doctor's 'therapy' with 'torture'—"has not exactly worked in your case. So we're going to do a bit of research, and see if we can find any cases similar to yours…"_

_The doctor droned on and on about things that Arthur didn't particularly care about for another half an hour, not even pausing to allow Arthur himself to speak his own part. In the end, Arthur was only half-listening, sometimes picking up a few odd words here and there._

"_So, Arthur. We're going to let you go for the day—"_

"_No therapy today?" Arthur scoffed, raising an eyebrow in surprise._

"_We're going to be halting the electroshock therapy until further notice," Dr. Roberts replied, jotting a few more notes down on his note pad. "Is there anything else you'd like to say, Arthur?"_

_Arthur took a deep breath. He'd promised Titiana that he would pretend the Fae didn't exist, even if it was just to get him out of the asylum. "I… don't see them anymore…"_

"_Don't see who anymore, Arthur?"_

"…_The Fae," he replied quietly, feeling his heart crack as he lied. Denying the existence of the creatures who had been his only constant companions as a child had to be the hardest thing he had ever done._

_There was a long pause. "You don't?" Dr. Roberts asked, sounding almost incredulous._

"_No. They were figments of my imagination, like you said, Dr. Roberts… Now that I've realized that, I don't see them anymore… I want to get better, Doctor. I really do. I want to go home."_

_Dr. Roberts smiled slightly. He'd finally gotten through to his patient. They had made a major breakthrough today. "We'll get you home as soon as possible, Arthur."_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

"_Welcome home, Arthur!"_

_Arthur let out a muffled scream of protest as Fiona crushed his face into her chest, cooing and rocking him back and forth like a mother hen. This seemed to have become a habit, greeting him in this fashion, for his sibling, and was something Arthur hoped to correct quickly. "Ge'roff!" he complained, struggling in vain against the curvy red-head._

"_Welcome back, Arthur," Delwyn said calmly, nodding slightly. "I'm glad you're better…"_

"_Artie's fine," Patrick scoffed. "He got a shock when he was told his mum died without a warning, that's all. Anyone would slip up a bit…"_

"_It was more than a 'bit'," Duff muttered. "He was completely loony."_

"_Duff! He can hear you!" Fiona scolded._

"_It's all right, Fiona," Arthur said soothingly, smiling. "Mum dying was hard… I just kind of snapped for a bit. I'm back to normal now. I'm all right."_

_There was a slightly pleasant pause as Fiona smiled down at her little brother, expression bittersweet. Her brother had never been the sturdiest in their family. Not to say he was frail – anyone who could survive the sickness that had nearly killed him as a child could never be called frail. But, emotionally, Arthur was never the strongest. He had a temper on him, he had cried easily as a child (he had stubbornly outgrown this when Duff began calling him on it just before his ninth birthday)… The list went on and on._

"_Well, I think he's faking," Duff stated dully._

"_Duff," Fiona growled, warningly._

"_I'm free to state my opinion. I think he's faking not seeing the Fae or whatever. He's just not admitting to it, 'cause he knows we'll send him back to the madhouse."_

"_We would not!" Fiona protested. "God, Duff, you're such a—"_

"_Duff's entitled to his own opinion, Fiona," Arthur stated gently. "If he wants to think I'm insane, then that's his decision." In truth, Arthur had a feeling that Duff was the only one who actually believed Arthur saw these 'imaginary' creatures._

_That, however, did not necessarily mean his brother himself believed in them. No sir, Duff's feet were firmly planted in reality. But he had no doubt that Arthur, with his head in the clouds and no sense of reality or direction, actually sincerely _believed_ that he could see these creatures of legend. Sure, it meant he was crazy. But, Duff knew, just because a person was crazy did not necessarily mean they were stupid._

_Arthur just happened to be one of those rare "intelligent" crazy people. The ones who were able to charm their way into being considered normal, to hide the fact that they were utterly off their rocker, until it was too late, and they were standing in the middle of a blood-spattered house in the middle of nowhere, laughing and finger-painting flowers onto the wall with their victims' blood._

_Watching Arthur now, as he sat at a table, chatting with Fiona and Patrick with a normal smile on his face, laughing at the appropriate times, smiling and coming up with those witty remarks of his at others, Duff could almost believe that Arthur truly _was_ sane. He wanted to believe it, but knew it would hurt more to give himself false hope._

_His little brother was sick, very sick, and the one he knew as a child had probably died the day he had learned of his mother's fate. The Arthur that remained was a shadow of who he had once been, an impostor, and Duff wasn't sure he could count him as part of his family._

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_Fiona crouched in the dirt next to her brother, watching as he transplanted his small seedlings from the clay pots he had been growing them in, stored up in a corner of the kitchen, into prepared holes in the ground. Arthur had practically begged their father for a plot of land to plant this project of his. He had been working on them since he'd come to America, breeding the roses in his room and, as his collection grew, wherever he could find the room. The problem with growing them in potted form was that they were unable to reach their full potential._

_Uncaring, their father had granted Arthur most of the yard to do with as he pleased. Their father was hardly ever home, in any case, so it wasn't as if he truly cared. His children could have free reign of the home, as far as he was considered, so long as it was kept presentable._

_And, if anything, at least Arthur's 'project' could be a conversation piece, or at least it could be used to steer conversations away from his brief stay in the asylum._

"_So, have you come up with a name for your breed yet, Arthur?" Fiona questioned, watching her brother gently pat the dirt around his precious sprout, covering the ground around it with a layer of mulch._

"_Not at the moment, no," Arthur admitted. "If you like, you can name it yourself."_

_Fiona thought for a moment, peering down at the small bush, gazing at the plant. Particularly sharp thorns stood out clearly, and she knew all too well the sting they delivered – she had accidentally cut herself on a stem a few minutes before. The blooms were a deep red, almost maroon. For some reason, the two images together reminded her of the bitter-sweetness of love. Love was a fickle mistress, she thought. It could be the best thing in the world one moment, and it would turn wicked the next… "_Mioscaiseach Grá," _she said after a moment. "Wicked Love."_

_Arthur glanced at his sister. "Wicked Love it is, then."_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_Delwyn cast his line out into the small river in front of him, wondering if he would catch anything today. Beside him, Arthur was likewise positioned, his brother's line about twenty feet downstream from his own._

_The two brothers had decided to spend a day fishing together. While they were brothers, they really didn't have much in common, other than their shared affinity for the peace and quiet that nature often provided. Then again, they hadn't really had much of an opportunity to get to know one another – Arthur had been raised in England, far away from his older brothers and sister, who went wherever his father went. Arthur's mother's health had been fragile, and that rendered her unable to travel with her husband on business. Naturally, she kept her own child at home with her, though she had no obligation to do likewise for her husband's children from his previous marriages._

_The time Arthur _had_ spent with his siblings had been short, and he really had not come to know them all that well. He had known only the barest skeletons of their personalities. As a child, he had practically hero-worshiped Duff, who father always praised, and had wanted to be just like him – a reason why he continually did whatever it was Duff said to do without questions up until age ten._

_However, now that he was finally able to spend time with his elusive brothers, Arthur found that he preferred Delwyn's quiet, reserved mentality to Duff's loud, boisterous personality any day. The two of them clicked, and at times, it seemed almost as if they could communicate without words. As a result, Arthur's affection for his third brother was growing, whereas his respect and awe for his oldest began to dwindle._

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_If there were two things Patrick and Duff both liked to do, Arthur could list them both among his least favorites._

_Drinking was the first. Duff was able to hold the most liquor, and easily kept his cool. Only when he talked did Duff really even show he'd had anything to drink, his words slurring and becoming almost unintelligible because of his accent. Patrick had a fair amount of experience, and was able to handle liquor on the normal person's level. He, however, was a loud and slightly annoying drunk, always singing and dancing drunkenly to Irish music._

_Arthur, on the other hand, couldn't hold his liquor to save his life. The one time he had gone with his brothers on one of their drinking binges in the garden, he had regretted it for the next two days, with horrid headaches and violent vomiting. And that was only after two shots of whiskey. Duff and Patrick had each downed at least eight, and had laughed at their younger brother, calling him weak, and generally teasing the hell out of him._

_The second thing was worse, in Arthur's opinion. And, most of the time, it was tied hand-in-hand with the first. While drunk, Duff and Patrick would often take Arthur with them as they tried to gain the attention of the fairer sex. Thus far, all of their attempts had been for naught, and they had gained little more the scoffs and rolled eyes for their efforts. Arthur, on the other hand, was generally cooed and fawned over, partly because of his young age, and partly because of his crisp British accent. They found it more desirable than Duff's (which they found strange and slightly unattractive), and more endearing than Patrick's (it didn't help that Irish accents were associated with drunkards, either)._

_The fact that Arthur was the only sober one may have added to their sudden interest in him, as well…_

_One thing was certain: because of his brothers, Arthur had begun to almost dread having to face members of the opposite sex… particularly those women whom his brothers had attempted to coerce into bed._

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_Arthur sat in his room, a handkerchief in his hand, a needle darting in and out of the soft fabric. A small bunch of roses was slowly blooming to life, formed from the red thread he repeatedly thrust in and out of the cloth. He had learned from his mother how to embroider when he had been small. She'd taught him how not out of believing her son would actually come to enjoy the pass time, but hoping it would keep him quiet and amused when company was over and he was required to be silent._

_Finishing the last rose, Arthur tied his thread, hiding the knot in his small, even stitches, pulling the fabric taunt, pulling his stitches tight._

"_Beautiful. As always, of course, Arthur," a voice greeted._

_Arthur felt a smile tug at his lips. "Titiana," he greeted in return, sticking his needle into a small pincushion for safe keeping. The Fae Princess smiled, perched lightly on the now-repaired windowsill of Arthur's room. "What brought you here tonight?"_

"_Can't I just come for a social call?" she teased, laughing behind a hand. "I actually have someone I want you to meet… Do you think you could manage to sneak out of the house?"_

_Arthur nodded. "It's the middle of the day, Titiana. I hardly have to slip out to take a walk."_

"_All right… I'll wait for you at the door, then, Arthur," she promised, slipping off of the wooden beam and landing, cat-like, on her feet on the grass twenty feet below._

_Arthur met her downstairs a few moments later, passing a disapproving-looking Duff. "Going for a walk," he said offhandedly over his shoulder. "In case you wonder where I am. I'll be back for dinner."_

_Shutting the door behind him, Arthur fell into step beside the Fae Princess, letting her guide his way. Once they were a safe distance from the house (as well as hidden within the safe confines of Arthur's expansive rose garden), Titiana glanced over at her human companion. "I just remembered. It's April 23rd."_

"_Ah, I suppose it is, isn't it?" Arthur smiled._

"_Happy sixteenth birthday, Arthur," Titiana grinned in return. "I can't believe I almost forgot…"_

"_Thank you, Titiana."_

"_In any case," Titiana went on, finally leading Arthur out of the labyrinth of rose bushes, "that wasn't exactly what I came to see you about… not that it isn't important, of course," she amended. "I actually wanted to introduce you to someone."_

"_Oh? And who would this person be?" Arthur glanced over at his Fae friend._

"_My older brother," she replied. "It's about time that you met some of my family members, after all."_

_Arthur suddenly felt a level of excitement build up in his chest. He had met plenty of Fae before, true, but this would be his first time meeting a male. From what Titiana had told him, male Fae were sadly lacking – for some reason, there were always more females than males. As a result, male Fae of Titiana's caliber were a rarity, even an oddity._

_Titiana led Arthur through the underbrush of the forest, carefully overstepping fallen trees and gnarled roots. Arthur followed her footsteps as close as he could, unsure of his footing, unlike his guide. "It isn't much further now," she called over her shoulder, watching as Arthur picked his way over a particularly large fallen tree._

_Titiana skirted around a rather large boulder, disappearing into a small crevice formed by it and a wall of rock and dirt. When Arthur himself made it through the small opening, he looked up, and instantly fell speechless._

_In front of him lay a small army of will-o'-the-wisps, floating this way and that, dipping and twirling around one another in a playful dance. And, standing in the middle of the chaotic swirls of blue fire was a tall man. Dressed from head to toe in the same riches as Titiana herself, Arthur knew this had to be her brother._

_The sun glinted gently off of blonde hair, which fell in a short, messy ponytail over the tanned skin of his neck. He was broad in the shoulders, muscular and well-built, with long dancers' legs; a common trait among the Fae Arthur had met so far._

"_Brother!" Titiana called, running over to the blonde. "I brought Arthur with me this time. You wanted to meet him, didn't you?"_

_The man turned around, and Arthur felt his heartbeat quicken. The face was slightly blurred, as if viewed through a fogged-up mirror. The only visible feature, at least in Arthur's memories, were his eyes – a deep ocean blue, endless, unreadable. He smiled lightly at Arthur, still staring at him with those eyes. "Arthur. A pleasure to finally meet you."_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_The next thing that Arthur showed him wasn't so much a memory (which had been something like movies, playing out in front of his eyes) as a wall of pure emotion._

_BETRAYAL._

_TRAITOR._

_BLOOD…_

_So much blood…_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Arthur pulled back from Alfred with a gasp, clutching at his head in pain.

Alfred's eyes remained unfocused for a moment before he, too, came to his senses. Arthur sat in front of him, clutching at his temples in pain, the pain slowly worsening, until he was gasping in agony. "My head…!"

Alfred leaned forward, brushing blonde hair from closed green eyes. "Arthur? Are you okay?" he asked hurriedly, feeling his heart skip several beats as Arthur continued to breath through a clenched jaw.

After what seemed like an eternity of pain (that really couldn't have been more than a minute), Arthur's aching head finally granted him peace, the pain ebbing away slowly. "I… think I am now…"

Alfred still brushed at his bangs like a worried mother hen. "Are you sure…? You looked like you were in a lot of pain…"

"I'll be fine," Arthur replied, shaking his head. He sounded drained, exhausted.

"Who was that man?"

"…My betrayer," Arthur responded quietly. "The man I trusted more than anything else… The one who taught me about Fae, the one who taught me everything…"

"That's the guy who betrayed you?"

"I don't remember how… but yes…"

"Do you… want to remember?"

"…I think I have to," Arthur responded quietly. "Maybe that's why I can't move on."

"Maybe we should take a break," Alfred suggested.

"No," Arthur countered quickly. "Please. While we're at it, just… let me get it off my chest, let me try and remember… If I hesitate again, and take a break, I'll just think of an excuse not to do it…"

Alfred hesitated for a moment before nodding. "…All right, Arthur… But if you get a headache like that again, we're stopping, all right?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Soul Mate**

**A/N: All right, before starting out this chapter, I want to think everyone for their wonderful reviews – they always make me smile, and make me feel very appreciated.**

**More thanks to my lovely Beta, PiratedxHearts, who continues to amuse me while I work on fanfics (and not just Soul Mate, but a few other ones, as well).**

**This chapter was written mainly due to me now attempting to make myself a timeline to finish this story... Or, at least, to get chapters posted. I've been lax, and haven't been updating my fics (I'm notorious for procrastination!), but I want to do my best to make this project a success! Please continue to support me!**

**Also, randomly switching topics... England is RIGHT. Tea (I prefer Earl Grey, coincidentally) with a little sugar and milk... Absolutely AWESOME. It's my new crack, and I almost always have a cup of it next to me while writing now...**

**Congrats to FlyingLama, who is my 100th reviewer, and the reciever of the request! =3**

**Without further delay, please enjoy chapter nine of Soul Mate!**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

_Arthur sat beneath the expansive branches of the oak tree he had taken to meeting Titiana's brother under whenever he had the chance. A large assortment of Fae were gathered in the clearing, from the small attendants of Titiana's Arthur had met as a child, __Amaryllis and Lyra, to a pair of unicorns grazing over in one corner._

_Breathing in deep, Arthur reveled in the tranquility he found in the forest. Sunlight filtered down from the canopy of leaves above him, falling on his pale skin in patches, warming him._

_Beside him, Titiana sat, reciting Shakespeare aloud to her brother, who sat leaning against the tree next to him._

_He closed his eyes, relaxing in the warm late spring heat, dozing as the rhythmic sound of Titiana's voice lulled him. The Briton's head slid down from its upright position, landing on the shoulder of the other male. Arthur started sleepily, glancing up at the other male with a hurried, hushed apology._

_He smiled. "It's fine, Arthur. If you're tired, I don't mind being your pillow."_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_Months passed by. Arthur was taught more and more about the hidden world of his Fae friends, learning which types were trustworthy, and which he had to practice caution around. He learned the difference between a kelpie and a puca, how to outsmart a pixie's tricks, the proper way to extract a brownie from its hiding space if you accidentally insulted it and it went to sulk…_

_All from Titiana's brother. While Titiana had been reluctant to show Arthur much more than the surface of her world, to touch on the lighter side of things, her brother was her polar opposite in this aspect – he allowed Arthur to delve in deep, and to surround himself in this new, formerly unseen universe. Everything was vibrant and new to Arthur's young eyes, and he was eager to take in as much knowledge as he could. There was still so much more about the Fae world that he didn't know._

_Slowly, he began spending more time with her brother than Titiana herself. The Fae Princess noticed this, but put it aside, telling herself that it was only natural that Arthur prefer male companionship to her own, if for no other reason than her gender._

_That didn't mean, however, that she liked it all that much. Even as a generally light Fae, she still had a relatively human heart – and she felt jealousy just as a human would over her friend suddenly spending more time with her brother rather than her._

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Titiana leaned against the trunk of the Oak. Next to her was the bouquet of today's flowers, lying atop the roots of the ancient tree. Red roses. Always Arthur's favorites. Even though they weren't the customary white lilies of mourning, Titiana somehow felt that they meant more.

She believed she knew the reason why Arthur did not return to this place anymore. The memories, the vivid pain, would be too much for him to bear. He unconsciously avoided this spot. His heart was already scarred, had already been broken so many times… Titiana didn't want the poor boy to undergo any more pain that absolutely necessary.

After all, her brother's betrayal had been enough to keep him on this Earth… Or, at least, that was what she had believed, before Alfred had entered the picture.

Why Arthur's soul mate had been born so long after him, she really could not fathom. Fate had played a cruel jest on these two. And Alfred had not been reincarnated into this new body, either. This was his first life. Of that much, the Fae was sure. The fact that he had been born a hundred and sixty-eight years after his perfect match had died was unheard of to her.

After all, soul mates were meant to be together, to love one another, to complete each other. Not always as lovers, necessarily – sometimes soul mates were even born as twins. But, even such, they were always together, for better or worse. It was a force of nature, something as natural as breathing.

When he had been alive, had Arthur believed he had found his soul mate? That was the only explanation she could possibly come up with for his actions back then, for going behind her back and lying to her. _Had he truly believed that the two of them had been destined for each other?_ She thought on this for a few minutes…

And then she thought back to that night once again, as she always did when she visited this place.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

"_Titiana."_

"_Yes, brother?" Titiana looked up from her embroidery. Arthur had recently taught her, and she found it relaxing… Though her stitches weren't nearly so good as Arthur's, she was getting better. You could almost tell that she was embroidering a daisy._

"_I have a question for you." Her brother sat across from her, reclining against the tree behind him._

"_That would be?"_

"_Do you know if Soul Mate bonds can cross the borderline between species?"_

_Titiana fell silent for a few moments. "Yes, they can," she murmured. As the heir apparent to the throne, she was in charge of a few duties. Regulating bonds between humans and their Fae counterparts was part of this. She had read of a few cases (keyword being few) of humans and Fae having bonds, but had never seen them up close._

_One of her special attributes, one might say, was that Titiana was able to tell if a person had met their soul mate. Granted, she could not always see who that person would be, but something in the person always changed as soon as they had met their perfect match. She wasn't sure how she knew, and just attributed it to instinct. She knew, for example, that she herself had met her soul mate, but that he had died some years before. She really hadn't tried any relationships after his death. She knew that, if she tried, she would simply begin looking for his replacement, someone who could fill in his place, no matter how impossible that was._

"_I know you aren't always able to tell, but… Do you know who Arthur's Destined is?"_

_Titiana shook her head, knowing where her brother was going with this now. "No, brother… He hasn't met him yet." The female Fae leaned back, tilting her head up to the sky. "His soul mate has not met him, at least… And, though I want to lead him to his future beloved, I'm sure… I'm sure that things like this must work themselves out. It isn't our place to meddle in the affairs of humans more than we can help. A Seer such as Arthur is one thing, but… Chances are, his soul mate is a regular human. A kind, wonderful, sweet.. all-around. beautiful person."_

_Her brother frowned momentarily, but nodded. "All right, Sister… I understand."_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

"_Arthur."_

_Arthur jumped a good foot in the air, his hand flying up to his chest, feeling his pounding heart. "Ah, don't startle me like that!" he scolded._

_The Fae male chuckled. "Ah, I apologize… I didn't mean to startle you."_

"_It's all right…" Arthur shook his head. "It wasn't that bad…"_

_The two began their usual conversation. Tonight, Arthur had been promised, he would be introduced to a few new concepts. "So, Arthur… Have you ever heard of the term soul mates before?"_

_Arthur nodded slightly. "The belief that everyone has a special person somewhere, right?" he said offhandedly. "Sounds like a load of bollocks to me…"_

"_Well, it's a law in the Fae world." Green eyes widened slightly, the porcelain cheeks beneath them blushing a light red. "We all know who our match is when we meet them, Arthur… And I think I met mine through my sister."_

_Arthur felt his breath catch slightly. "O-Oh, I… er…"_

"_I think you're my soul mate, Arthur. What do you think?"_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

"_Brother, you have to stop this."_

"_Stop what, Titiana?"_

"_You know damn well what I mean," Titiana hissed angrily. "Whatever lies you are spouting to Arthur, stop it. He's delicate. He's—"_

"_A Seer, a Chime Child… All that. I know, Titiana. I'm not a fool."_

_Titiana felt her shoulders stiffen at his uncaring tone. "Brother, what does Arthur mean to you?" she hissed quietly._

_Her brother didn't respond at first. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table in between the siblings. He folded his hands together, resting his chin on top of his interlaced fingers. "Arthur is… important. He is not like other humans. He's powerful… More so than even he can realize." His eyes shined with a sudden mirth. "He's desirable."_

"_So that's what you're after," Titiana whispered. Her expression hardened. "Stay away from Arthur, brother. I mean it."_

_Her brother chuckled. "Titiana… I'd like to see you try and make me."_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_A few more weeks passed, and Titiana was beginning to worry about her brother. He had begun to show a slight obsession with her beloved Briton. She was still dwelling on what she had said in regard to Arthur's 'soul mate' status._

"_Brother."_

"_Yes, sister?" Cold, ocean-blue eyes glanced her way, the expression in her brother's eyes slightly scaring her._

_It was now or never. She had to make things clear, or he would never let sleeping dogs lie. "Arthur's soul mate has yet to meet him," she repeated her words from before. "I want you to realize that no amount of wishing and hoping is going to make him truly yours. Even if he does become involved with you, he'll… he'll just leave you for his soul mate in the future."_

"_Who's to say he'll ever meet this elusive soul mate of his?" Her brother smiled. "I'm fully aware that I can't have him, Titiana. I can't change that. But I can try and at least get the most out of Arthur that I can."_

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

"_Arthur?"_

"_Oh, Titiana." Arthur looked up from his book. He stuck a small strip of leather into the binding to mark his place, and set it aside, giving the Fae princess his full attention. "You usually don't visit so late at night," Arthur commented, glancing at the clock. It was nearly eleven in the evening._

"_It's important…" Titiana trailed off, fidgeting slightly. "Could I… perhaps sit down?"_

"_Feel free," Arthur offered, moving his legs off the lower half of his bed. He crossed them, leaning forward to listen to the Fae as she seated herself gingerly at the foot of his bed._

"_Arthur, I want to have a serious conversation with you."_

"_About?"_

"…_My brother."_

"_What about him?" Arthur's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "What happened? Is he hurt?"_

"_No, no… Nothing like that." Titiana shook her head, wondering just how she was to break this news to Arthur. "I… I want you to stay away from him."_

_Arthur gave her a look of pure confusion. "Stay away from him…? Whatever for?"_

"_Please, Arthur, it's… He's not safe," she said quietly. "I'd feel better if you cut ties with him."_

_Arthur shook his head. "Titiana, there's nothing to worry about. He would never harm me."_

"_I know that's what he has told you, Arthur, but—"_

"_He wouldn't lie to me, Titiana." Arthur smiled, a small blush spreading across his cheeks. "After all… He cares about me… And I… I feel the same way…"_

_Titiana felt her heart crack. "Arthur… Be careful," she whispered. "Please, _please_ be careful…" Arthur would not cut ties with her brother willingly. He was too taken in by his lies. They all had been. Titiana swore to herself that, no matter what the cost, she would protect Arthur from her brother's growing insanity._

_Titiana did not allow the two of them to meet each other alone again after that. She was forever present, always looking at her brother over Arthur's shoulder. She never relaxed, not even for a moment. She had to protect Arthur… Because he didn't know enough to protect himself._

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Arthur—

I want to see you. Alone. Without my infuriating sister.

If you will, please meet me under the tree at an hour to midnight tonight. Be sure that no one sees you.

As I said before, Arthur: Nothing can keep apart Soul Mates except for death.

_Emerald eyes read the note over twice before their owner smiled once, stashing the letter back in its envelope and hiding it in his bedside drawer._

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

_Arthur glanced out his window, holding his breath to make sure no one was around. Not that it was likely – it was nearly midnight, and his siblings were probably all snug in bed. The main one he would have to worry about would be the maid, who was a remarkably light sleeper. He climbed out onto the window sill, holding his breath. The memory of the last time he had crawled out onto the thin strip of wood outside his window flashed vividly in his mind, and he shook it off stubbornly._

"_You can do this, Arthur," he muttered to himself. He gripped the sill, and lowered himself as quietly as possible, so that he was dangling by his hands. He knew his feet were only a few inches from the angled roof from the front porch. He allowed himself to drop, bending his legs like a cat to absorb some of the impact and quieten his fall. Even so, it still send shock waves up his legs, and he felt wobbly for a moment, and, fearing he'd fall off the roof again, he lowered himself into a sitting position, his heart hammering away at his chest._

_Once he'd regained his composure, Arthur crawled down the slope of the roof, his ears straining to hear anyone in the house stirring. How he believed he could hear anything over the pounding of his heart was beyond him. He lowered himself again to the ground beneath the porch, his fall cushioned by an unfortunate bush._

_Staying low to the ground, Arthur slipped behind the nearest line of rose bushes, moving fast. The sooner he was out of sight, the better. After all, his siblings would be better off if they didn't know about where he was going tonight, and for what reason..._

_Arthur slipped into the forest, following the now-familiar game trail. Past the three fallen trees and over the small hill, then the slight climb up the boulders to the clearing. He broke into it, relishing in the familiar sight of will-o'-the-wisps pooling around the central point._

"_Arthur, you're early."_

"_You are, as well," he replied, smiling softly. He moved closer. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"_

"_Arthur... I wanted to know if you knew about certain... qualities you have inherited."_

"_What qualities would those be?" Arthur made himself comfortable on one of the protruding roots of the oak tree they always met under. It was waist height, and made an excellent bench._

_The other male licked his lips slightly. "Well... For starters, your ability to See."_

"_Ah..." Arthur shook his head. "That was a gift... From Lyra and Amaryllis."_

"_Those two?" The older man scoffed. "They hardly have that kind of power... My sister probably helped them awaken your Sight from behind the scenes."_

"_In either case," Arthur shrugged, "I wasn't able to see Fae or the like until after..."_

"_You were born sensitive to the supernatural, Arthur... We cannot simply _give_ this kind of ability to a person. We can awaken it, yes, but the ability in itself?" The Fae shook his head. "It is a gift we cannot bestow. We cannot even be seen by normal humans... Unless, of course, we've qualified for a few... prerequisites."_

"_And what would those be?" Arthur twisted a blade of grass between two fingers, glancing up at the other man._

"_Well... One of them is a certain level of magical ability. The main one, however, is a little darker."_

"_Oh?" Arthur looked up. "And here I thought that the Fae were peaceful creatures. A dark side... Well, Titiana did say that everything had both a dark and a light side to it."_

"_Hm." The older male moved closer to the human. "Sidhes, Arthur, are not, by nature, a peaceful race..."_

"_Sidhes?" The name sounded vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn't place exactly where he had heard it before._

"_Yes." The Fae moved closer to Arthur, a hand moving up and cupping his cheek gently. A thumb stroked the Briton's cheekbone gently, almost lovingly. "Sidhes are a power thirsty race by nature... And it is hardly possible for one to resist their true nature, is it not?"_

"_I... I suppose..." Arthur didn't know why, but his heart was racing, and he felt his chest tighten up in fear._

"_Power is all that keeps you alive, Arthur... So you'll understand why I'm doing this."_

"_Doing wha—" Arthur's words cut out when he felt something stick between his shoulder blades. He froze. "What are you...?"_

"_To kill a Seer is to gain their powers, Arthur... And you... You are more than a Seer... More than the mere average Mediator. Your powers are not limited to just seeing and speaking with spirits... And that power? It will belong to me. I wanted to keep you alive, at first, but... I can't really have you, in the end, so there's no need to keep you."_

_Arthur felt the thing against his back press a little harder. A slight pain, more of a numb sting than anything, was left behind as the male Fae dragged the blade of his knife across his skin slightly before suddenly sinking it into the Briton's back._

_Arthur yelled out in pain as the knife plunged into his shoulder, cutting through muscle and skin like a hot knife through butter. He was thrown to the ground, and Titiana's brother straddled his waist, raising the bloody blade. "You should be happy, Arthur. You're helping someone you care about," he laughed._

_The blade rose again, slamming down into Arthur's chest. It missed the heart, and instead stuck painfully into a lung. Arthur screamed again as the blade continued to rise and fall. "Titiana...! Titiana, please, help—"_

"_She's not coming," he heard his betrayer whisper. "We kept this a secret between the two of us, remember...?"_

_Arthur coughed, and blood spilled from behind his lips, leaving a trail from the corner of his mouth down his cheek. "Why...?" He managed to whisper hoarsely._

"_Why?" The Fae leaned forward. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur... Are you so naive...?"_

"_...I trusted you... Christ..."_

"_And that, Arthur... that was where you made your biggest mistake. A Sidhe can never be trusted." All throughout this conversation, the Sidhe was still stabbing at the Englishman in growing frustration. Why wouldn't he just die already?_

_Arthur closed his eyes, counting the times the knife fell into him before he finally felt the Fae man rise from his stomach... Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven..._

_The pain stopped, and Arthur's world faded to black._


	10. Chapter 10

**Soul Mate**

**A/N: Again, thank you to all my reviewers for continuing to support me. I'm absolutely shocked at how many people have this on their Story Alert and Favorite lists, it makes me really happy. Please continue to read, because it's only for you guys that I continue to try and push myself and get chapters out as quickly as possible!**

**I've decided that, officially, Soul Mate will have a sequel – so, even after this project comes to an end, I will continue the story in another fanfiction. I have the rest of Soul Mate mapped out, and the first few chapters of the sequel planned out. If anyone has any suggestions for a title for said sequel, please tell me!**

**Thanks again to my beloved Beta, PiratedxHearts. Much love to you, for (your attempt at) keeping me on track while writing this chapter, and keeping me from straying off my schedule and watching USUK MAD videos on YouTube. XD**

**This chapter will be have something a lot of you have apparently been anticipating. I'm going to insert some much-needed PruCan at last, at the urging of several readers, as well as my Beta. =P**

**NOTE: THIS CHAPTER IS UN-BETAED. PiratedxHearts is currently having troubles with her computer. However, seeing as I've had this chapter done for over a week, I felt bad for not posting it; I'll replace this chapter with her edited version as soon as she gets it back to me. Please excuse any errors (grammatical or otherwise) that may be lurking in here somewhere...**

**In any case, please continue reading and reviewing!**

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

**Chapter Ten**

Alfred looked down at the pale Briton in his arms. Arthur had gone as limp as a rag doll; the only thing keeping him from tumbling backwards to the ground was Alfred's firm grip on his waist. "Arthur?" the American whispered quietly, gently prodding his shoulder. "Arthur…"

The green-eyed teen looked up dully at blue eyes, wincing slightly. Eyelids clamped down over dampening emeralds, and the smaller male's shoulders shook, his hands coming up to cover his mouth in horror.

"Murder… I was murdered… He killed me, he just… He just…"

"You knew he betrayed you, Arthur…" Alfred reminded gently, rubbing small circles in his back. "You knew." In truth, neither of them had expected the betrayal to truly be so great, to have been so damaging. Neither of them had seen this coming.

"I know I did…" Arthur stated. He sounded hollow, exhausted. "I didn't… I didn't remember that he—"

"It's all right, Arthur." Slightly chapped lips kissed in-between Arthur's eyebrows gently, the strong arms of their owner pulling him tighter against a toned chest. "Everything's going to be all right now. It's okay to cry."

"I'm not crying!" Arthur insisted stubbornly, his voice cracking, a few stubborn tears clinging to his eyelashes.

"Maybe not, but you want to." Alfred brushed back sandy blonde bangs, giving him a better view of Arthur's eyes. They were wet with unshed tears; deep, forest-green irises stood out more boldly against the now red whites of his eyes. Alfred cupped a cheek gently, and leaned his forehead against Arthur's. "It's all right."

Arthur closed his eyes, feeling his breath hitch. "Git," he managed to whisper, his usual biting tone missing entirely.

Alfred shrugged off the insult. "I'm your git," he stated without thinking.

Arthur stiffened in his arms. "…Alfred…" he began, his voice cracking again, this time for an entirely different reason.

Alfred shook his head. "Don't think about it too much, Arthur. For once, just… Just live in the moment. No past, no future. Just right now." The impulsive American lowered himself, brushing his lips gently against Arthur's. "Even if that bastard hurt you back then, he'll never touch you again." As if to prove his point, Alfred's grip tightened on Arthur's waist protectively, posessively.

"I like you, Arthur," Alfred murmured softly, his head bowed against the other boy's shoulder. "I really like you."

"…I like you, too, Alfred," Arthur admitted quietly, refusing to look up and meet eager saphire eyes.

Though the two had kissed before, this was new. Speaking of emotions was different than simply feeling them. And neither of them were very good at it – Alfred was, in a way, too childish and niave. Arthur, too stubborn and too accustomed to his closed-off world he had created while he had still been alive. The Briton's innermost heart was a place few people could reside in, and no one had resided in this tightly-closed place for many years.

His heart had been alone, kept in an icy winter for all these years, only occasionally thawed by Titiana's visitations, the odd joy here and there; but, nevertheless, it had still been a winter, even if the occasional warm days popped up. With Alfred's arrival in The Garden, so had spring arrived in Arthur's heart. With the thaw came pain – Arthur expected that what he had felt was only just the beginning, that he had not even learned the beginning of pain just yet.

But he yearned for the warmth, craved the warmth, longed for Alfred to just wrap him up in his warm embrace and never let him go.

It was so much easier to just kiss the American, to let the emotions he felt flow through their strange bond, letting the American know how he felt without clumsy, only half-decent words. Even the English language, the language with a word for just about everything, failed to convey just exactly it was Arthur wanted to say.

And he wasn't used to being at a loss for words.

Arthur closed his eyes, hiding his now slightly blushing face in the crook of Alfred's neck. One day, he'd finally find the words he was looking for.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

A week passed. Alfred noticed that Arthur was acting more and more strangely as each day passed by. Arthur assured him that he was fine, that it was simply because the anniversary of his death was coming up, that he was like this every year.

Alfred hoped that, now that Arthur remembered how he had died (it still pissed Alfred off that he couldn't even see the face of the bastard that had done such a thing to Arthur), he could overcome this seeming skittishness (or was it hatred?) of July fourth. He wanted to spend his birthday with Arthur, to make it special, like all the other couples he had seen.

He wanted to go out to dinner, then to a movie, maybe park out in the middle of nowhere and just _talk_ about random, useless things that didn't really matter, things that were said simply because they didn't want to go home and be forced to say their good-byes in the form of a "call you later" and a good-night kiss.

He wanted to be able to hold Arthur close when they weren't in the In-Between, to glare at anyone who looked towards what was _his_ with less than chaste thoughts, to be like other couples, the lucky ones who liked normal humans.

He wasn't afraid to admit that he liked Arthur. Granted, he had never thought of himself as homosexual before, but he had nothing against those who were. In fact, back in California, he had several friends who _were_ gay. He wasn't sure if he could consider himself gay or not… Because, before Arthur, he had never found himself attracted to men before. He'd had the usual curiosity about women as a young teen, but had soon lost interest after he went on his first date: a complete and utter disaster where he had accidentally spilled cola on her brand-new skirt. Granted, he had of course never meant to do so – he wouldn't stain a white skirt with Coke, that was just mean. But she had insisted that he purposefully done it, and stormed out of the movie theater, leaving behind a rather confused thirteen-year-old Alfred.

After that disaster, he'd only gone out on a handful of dates with other girls over the years. While he was good-looking and equally good-natured, he didn't have quite the determination to force himself into a relationship, and, as a result, had never really persued any of the girls past a second date (which, now that he thought back on it, had always been their idea).

Matthew, on the other hand, had never been on a date at all, so far as Alfred knew. The younger twin was painfully shy, and usually disappeared into the background of situations. Which, to be honest, was what Matthew preferred – unlike Alfred, who somewhat enjoyed being at the center of attention, Matthew was more comfortable to simply stand on the side and watch.

Speaking of Matthew, Arthur had gotten oddly attached to the boy. When he wasn't conversing with Alfred up in "their" room, the blonde teen had sometimes seen Arthur following Matthew around, with a somewhat curious expression on his face. There was another expression there, but Alfred couldn't place it immediately. It took a few days for him to put a name to it, and even then, he wasn't sure it was right – protectiveness.

When he'd questioned Arthur about it, the dead teen had merely shrugged, replying, "Your brother isn't like you, Alfred. He's your twin, but he's your polar opposite… You can take care of yourself, but I'm not so sure he could hold his own in a tight spot without support."

Currently, Alfred was half-heartedly attempting to find an internet connection on his PSP (so far, no luck, and his mom hadn't set up their wireless yet, so he was out of luck there). Arthur was curled up on his window seat, gazing out the window at the growing rose bushes. Alfred was almost surprised at how much they had grown over the short amount of time since he had planted them.

Even more impressive were Arthur's own original roses, which had burst back into life after they had been taken care of for the first time in God knows how long. Already, the branches were spreading, green shoots coming from what Alfred had believed to be dead wood, and he had even seen a few rose buds the last time he'd gone and checked on them.

"Hey, Arthur?" Alfred looked up, prodding the PSP's switch to turn the device off.

"Hm?" Arthur leaned his forehead against the glass of the window. His eyes had dark circles under them, as if he hadn't slept in a long time. Which was ridiculous, considering it was technically impossible for Arthur to sleep… wasn't it?

"Want to go on a walk?" Alfred asked. "I'm kind of bored, and Matthew went off to town today for some reason…"

"Mm. I don't see why not," Arthur admitted, shaking his head. "Let's go, then. I'll meet you downstairs."

Alfred turned, grabbed his favorite jacket (a military-style bomber jacket he'd received as a gift from his mother's brother a few years back, which his awesome uncle had even gotten embroidered with his team number, fifty, from when he had played football back in Cali) from the back of a nearby chair, and tossed it over his shoulders. He slipped down the stairs, passing his mother, who was standing on a chair in the kitchen, going through the painstaking task of tearing old wallpaper down off of the living room (someday to be lobby) walls.

She'd ordered something online to replace (and nearly match) the old, faded, and ripped paper that had adorned the walls. For most of the other walls, she was going to have her sons paint. Wallpaper was more work than it was worth, in her book, but she liked the vibe it gave off. The warm red and gold hues, though dark, gave off a cozy, homey feel to the room.

"Head out for a walk, be back in an hour," Alfred called over his shoulder.

"Oh, Mattie's having a friend over for dinner," his mom informed him. "Someone called Gilbert…?"

It took Alfred a few minutes to place a face to the name. The albino kid they had met while buying Arthur's roses. "Oh. Really?"

"Yes, apparently, they hit it off the bat, and have been texting, IMing, and calling each other for a few weeks. It's really nice to see him making a friend," his mother smiled. "Why don't you find a group of boys to hang around with? I know you enjoyed spending time with… Oh, what was that boy's name… That Korean exchange student back in California."

"Im Yong Soo," Alfred replied. "He went back home to Seoul, anyways, though, so it wasn't like we would have been able to continue hanging out this year. So it's not that big of a deal that we moved." In truth, America had several aquaintances, several "friends", but had never been particularly _attached_ to anyone other than Matthew.

Not that it was much different for his twin. The two were closer than normal brothers, partially because of their status as twins, and partially because of the copious amounts of time they had spent together growing up. Lately, however, they had begun spreading their social circles. Alfred was happy for Matthew, finding a friend in Gilbert – after all, knowing someone would help quite a bit when they began school in the fall. And someone like Matthew, in particular, needed someone to watch after them – because it was always the shy, awkward people that became targets for the jerks in schools.

"Anyways, I'll be back to help with dinner."

"Would you mind making it?" His mother tore down another panel of wall paper, stamping it into submission as she began balling it up to throw away. "I have a few errands to run. I had no idea how much wall paper glue I would need, and I only bought half the amount…"

"That's fine. What'cha want me to make?" Alfred asked, twitching in anticipation to leave. Arthur was waiting for him. But there was no way he could simply ditch while his mother was speaking with him.

"There's some frozen hamburger thawing in the fridge," she explained. "And there's buns in the cupboard. Go ahead and have burgers. I won't be back until late tonight… I met a lady in town yesterday, and she saw she was going to introduce me to someone who's _fabulous_ at restoring old furniture for a fair price."

"All right, talk to you later then, Mom." Usually, when his mom said she wouldn't be back until "late", that meant around two or so in the morning. Not that he had a problem with it – she always got her work done, and didn't let a hangover keep her from doing her duties as a mom, so why couldn't she go out and have some fun? After all the arguing she did with his father via telephone, she deserved it. And Alfred and Matthew were more than old enough to take care of themselves – hell, they were off to college next year.

"All right, then, Alfred. Have fun. Tonight. Oh, and no 'ice cream wars' this time, all right? It took me _days_ to clean up after you and Im Yong Soo," she stated.

Alfred smiled in amusement, remembering fondly the time he and his former partner-in-crime had taken it upon themselves to throw, scoop by scoop, nearly two gallons of ice cream, along with three bottles of Hershey's syrup, a jar of strawberry topping, a bag of peanuts, and nearly an entire can of whipped cream around the kitchen back in their California home.

"Will do, Mom." The teen turned on his heel, slipping out the door without another word.

As usual, the deceased teacher was waiting for him, green eyes curious. "What kept you?"

"Mom talking about making dinner." Alfred shrugged, speaking quietly, in case his mother heard him. "She's going out tonight. So it looks like it's just going to be me, you, Mattie, and Gilbert."

"Gilbert?"

"Mattie's friend," Alfred explained. "He's one of the guys that helped out with your rose bushes." Arthur nodded in comprehension, and Alfred set off at an easy, loping gait. Arthur seemed to glide along beside him, and the two of them enjoyed the silence for a few minutes as they passed through the now-cleared-out maze, passing by old and new rose bushes alike. Arthur was rather excited to see what the roses would look like after they had regained their former glory.

They skirted around the edge of the roses hedges, the edge of the woods a few yards to the side. Alfred wondered off-handedly if Arthur had done this while alive… Or, more specifically, if he had done it with any company. He had seen some of the girls that had an interest in him in a few quick, half-forgotten memories of Arthur's from being dragged along on his brother's drunk adventures, and none of them had been what one might call "unattractive".

"Arthur?"

"Hm?"

"Did you ever have a girlfriend?"

Arthur gave him a slightly confused look. "I had female friends, yes."

"I mean… you know, a girlfriend."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"A girl you like-liked," Alfred stated, getting slightly impatient. Arthur looked adorably confused by his terminology, however, and Alfred couldn't help but smile at the cute expression the Briton made. "A girlfriend… like, a lover." Arthur's cheeks colored, and Alfred felt his smile grow wider. "Well? Did you?"

"Well… not really," Arthur stated, rubbing an arm nervously. "I never really… liked anyone, other than…" The other blonde cut off for a moment, before continuing. "I wonder now, if I ever really did love him. Or was it really just hero-worship for the one who showed me what I wanted to see?"

Alfred shook his head. "I don't want to make you think of the jerk," he stated. "That jerk's lucky you don't remember his face, or I'd hunt him down."

Arthur shifted, shaking his head. "It's not worth it, Alfred. It was a long time ago… And if anyone was going to find him, Titiana already would have."

"Titiana… That's that Fae Princess chick, right?" Alfred asked, searching his memory for the name… A face went with it after a few more moments of thought – skin paler than he thought was humanly possible, those long, pointed, elf-like ears, the small but full, heart-shaped lips, and the striking violet eyes. A pretty girl, but not exactly his type.

"Yes." Arthur nodded stiffly. "Though I don't think she'd take kindly to you calling her 'that Fae Princess chick', Alfred."

"She's still around?"

"Yes," Arthur stated, a small smile coming to his lips. "Titiana is alive and kicking. She was made Queen a few decades ago… It's a pity I wasn't able to attend the ceremony." The Fae's royal capitol was located in England, and, because of his attachment to The Garden's grounds, and to some extent the woods surrounding it, Arthur had been unable to watch the proud day when Titiana had taken on the title of Fae Queen from her mother.

"She was your best friend, huh?"

"Titiana was a very good friend, yes."

"Did you ever like her?" When Arthur gave him a strange look, Alfred backed up a bit. "I mean, she's pretty, and she seemed to be into all the same things you liked… books, that whole thing."

"Titiana was an a very good friend, Alfred, but no. I never thought of her in that light. I don't believe I've ever truly been in love… In fact, I'm not even sure if I could define what that specific type of love is, or describe what it feels like. But I don't think what I felt for her brother was love."

"You seemed to think you were soul mates back then."

"I know better now, don't I?" Arthur said quietly. "A soul mate wouldn't take the life of their other half. It's equivalent to killing part of themselves. I'm not even sure if everyone is assigned a soul mate when they are born. Maybe it's only for specific people. Maybe my soul mate is waiting for me up in heaven. Maybe they're not. All I know for sure is that he wasn't it, he wasn't mine, and I was never his."

Alfred felt the conversation turning stiff, and knew Arthur was growing as uncomfortable as he was beginning to feel. "A-anyways, how about this weather…?" the blonde American asked, trying pathetically to change the subject.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Arthur watched as Alfred tossed a lump of ground meat into a metal bowl, and began adding in flavorings – salt, a few other spices Arthur couldn't name, a bit of garlic… Everything was tossed in, and the American began to combine it all together with his hands, squishing the seasoning into the red meat.

"What is that?" Arthur asked, watching in slight disgust as Alfred began forming the strange meat mixture into balls before squashing them flat.

"Burgers," Alfred replied with a wide smile. "My favorite."

"I… see… Though that doesn't really explain it…"

"It's kinda like a sandwhich," Alfred shrugged. "You grill the burger – uhm, you know, cook it over a flame – stick it between a bun with pickles, lettuce, tomato, cheese… Talk about awesome."

"Er… yes, sure, if you say so," Arthur responded awkwardly. "Matthew went upstairs, did he not? With his guest, Gilbert?"

"Yeah. Dinner's gonna be done in twenty minutes or so, so I guess maybe I should call him down in a few minutes… They've been pretty quiet, I wonder what they're up to?"

"I'll go check."

"What if they catch you spying on them? …Oh, wait, nevermind…" Alfred laughed sheepishly.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at the idiot American before rolling his eyes. "In any case, you've gotten me curious now. I'll go see what they're up to and give you an update." The green-eyed specter slipped up the stairs without so much as a noise, gliding to the second floor and down the hall he knew led to Matthew's chosen room.

He felt himself slip through the wall with no resistance, mentally entertaining the image of doing such a thing in front of Alfred – no doubt the American would be scared speechless for a few minutes, at least. The Briton filed it away in his mental "to-do" list for future amusement.

He blinked in surprise at the sight that greeted him in Matthew's bedroom.

The white-haired albino boy that he had seen arriving earlier was currently sitting with an eager blonde on his lap, the smaller male's arms wrapped around his neck, his legs in a not-so-innocent position around his waist, their lips melded together in an equally mature kiss. Arthur felt his face color, and was rather glad, for once, that no one could see or hear him, or else this situation would have been rather mortifying.

With his mind now permanently scarred from seeing sweet, adorable Matthew in a lip-lock battle with someone who had sworn six times and claimed "his supreme awesomeness" five in the three sentences Arthur had heard him speak, Arthur made his irritation noticed when he knocked a large, rather heavy book off of Matthew's bookcase, making it land not-so-gracefully on the albino's foot with a heavy _thud_.

The swearing was loud enough to be heard from downstairs, and it seemed that it only took Alfred a few seconds to reach the door, throwing it open, eyes wide with concern, his chest rising and falling rapidly – he had obviously just sprinted up the stairs. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Gilbert was snogging your brother. If you haven't noticed, his legs are still wrapped around his waist," Arthur stated blandly. He had a feeling he was going to dislike Gilbert.

Alfred glanced at Arthur from the corner of his eye before turning his gaze back on his brother. "Er… Mattie…? Is there something you… uh… want to tell me…?" the blonde American asked nervously.

Matthew was currently the same color as the Beautiful Britains Alfred had planted in the back yard. "We… it… that's…" The younger twin stuttered hopelessly for a few moments before giving up and hiding his face in his hands. Of all the people to catch him making out with his new boyfriend, it had to be Alfred…


	11. Chapter 11

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**Soul Mate**

**A/N: All right! We're already at chapter eleven of Soul Mate! I feel utterly awesome now. XD**

**Okay, before I move on to random stuff about (pretty much) nothing, I have a bit of an announcement: Soul Mate has expanded itself into DeviantArt! I've revived my old account that I abandoned for about… two and a half, three years, and begun posting the chapters on it. We'll see how well that goes over. XD As on here, my Deviant ID is kagomegirl2004.**

**Moving on! PiratedxHearts is still having computer troubles, as far as I know, so, again, this chapter is completely un-edited and un-Betaed; please give me a heads-up if you spot any errors, and I'll do my best to correct them promptly and quickly!**

**I did finally come up with the next "contest" for a request; in this chapter, there are references to a few different poems. The storyline of one of the poems is explained by Matthew but the name is not given. What's the title of this poem? I'll give you one hint: the author is Robert Browning.**

**Please enjoy this special chapter of Soul Mate, chock-full of PruCan goodness!**

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Chapter Eleven

Matthew sighed, turning the page of his book with a bored expression. He wasn't really reading the words on the pages. The book was some old, leather-bound volume he'd found while cleaning out the basement the day before – a collection of poetry, written down in small, neat handwriting that, while loopy and ornate, was still somehow masculine.

Each poem was copied down twice in this handwriting – once plain, the second scribbled all over, underlined, marked up. The owner of the book had seemed to take a pleasure in picking apart stories and he wasn't exactly sure what the book was, he realized it was a journal of some sort – a reading journal? He had no idea. Each poem that had been annotated on, however, had been signed with the same initials – A.K. He wondered who this A.K. had been. A former resident of the house?

He was currently reading the final poem written into it, though the book was only half full. The poem was morbid and slightly disturbing, if you asked his opinion. In it, an unnamed man strangled his lover, wrapping her long blonde hair around her throat three times and strangling her. He then arranged her dead body on the bed with him, and began to contemplate the absolute joy that he had experienced because of the murder.

Disgusting.

The small, neat handwriting had written notes in the margins, as usual. However, whereas most of the poems (Rime of the Ancient Mariner, a bunch of Shakespeare's love sonnets, and dozens of other poems that Matthew couldn't name) were filled to bursting at the seams with the notes and questions in that flawless handwriting, the last one in the journal had only two or three notes scribbled into the sides, sometimes only pointing out obvious points and expanding upon them, such as the first note: "Porphyria – named for the disease". Just what the disease was, Matthew had no idea.

The next section was blocked out from the rest, and Matthew read it aloud:

"Too weak, for all her heart's endeavor, / To set its struggling passion free / From pride, and vainer ties dissever, / And give herself to me forever…"

The note next to the blocked out passage was written with a slightly shaken hand, and seemed to be more personal reflection than anything else: Would I give myself to him forever?

The next line was equally mystifying for the teen. Near the second note on the poem, the mysterious journalist had written something nearly unintelligible in the margins: …And would he give himself to me?

Matthew sighed. It sounded as if the mysterious journalist had not, as he had assumed, been male, but a girl. Probably a lovesick girl from God knew how long ago, dreaming about the man she considered her one true love.

He set the poem-book aside for now, an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. He felt nauseaous. He was rather sure it was simply the poem's morbid story, but something about those two small margin-notes also made his stomach turn… As if it didn't bode well for him.

The blonde teen jumped slightly when his phone went off, blasting off "Canadian Idiot" by Weird Al irritatingly (Alfred had changed his ring tone again, the moron). He reached over, checking the caller ID. "Gilbert Beilschmidt" flashed up at him from the small screen. He smiled softly as he answered the phone, his mood improving rather quickly. "Hello, Gil."

"Yo, Mattie! How's it going today?"

"Just fine… I've been reading for a while. And you?"

"Awesome, as usual," Gilbert responded off-handedly. "Just found out that my brother's leaving for Feliciano's tonight. The 'rents are gone, too, so I was wondering if I could come over tonight. It's completely boring being here all alone, and I want to get to know you a bit better… We've talked a lot over the 'net, but we haven't managed to hang out, really, ya know?"

Matthew made a quiet noise of awknowledgement. "Yes, it would be nice to be able to see you again. I enjoy talking with you."

"M'k, I'll drive over later today, then," Gilbert replied, a tone of excitement just barely audible in his voice. Matthew couldn't help but smile slightly. His cheeks flushed slightly. He was really connecting with Gilbert, which was rather surprising, to tell the truth. He was shy and somewhat introverted, whereas Gilbert was the loud, boisterous type, always getting into trouble and causing problems for one person or another (usually, the hapless victim was his brother).

"I'll be looking forward to it," Matthew replied quietly, the blush on his cheeks deepening slightly.

He liked Gilbert… Quite a bit. He'd known about… how he was… for a long time now, ever since his brother had asked him what girl he liked in class during seventh grade. At the time, he'd only been able to think of boys that he liked. He had no interest in the girls. Alfred hadn't, either, but it was different from Matthew's disinterest. The older twin found the relationships simply troublesome; Matthew wanted a relationship with someone special, but he simply found that he was drawn towards the boys in their class rather than girls.

Then he'd learned of homosexuality, and everything had begun to make perfect sense.

He was simply different. He felt no shame in what he was; love was love, and if he felt no attraction to members of the opposite sex, that simply meant that he was destined for love with one of the same. His family, was however, a different matter. His father had never supported gay rights, to begin with, but the venomous look he would give the television each time a gay rights motion was featured in the nightly news.

He knew that he could never tell his father what he was.

As a result, he'd been in the closet the whole time he'd known about his sexual orientation. He wasn't sure how his mother would feel about it, even if he didn't need to worry about his father anymore. Alfred was also worrisome—while he was rather sure that his twin wouldn't hate him on account of something as trivial as the fact that he was interested in men, he was still rather afraid to think of Alfred thinking of him any differently for this one reason.

But, most of all, it was Gilbert he was worried about. He hadn't spoken to the other teenager about something as serious as sexual orientation—after all, that would be a rather odd topic for two people who hadn't known one another for very long. But already, he could tell that Gilbert was becoming special to him. He always felt a smile come onto his face whenever he saw him sign onto messenger, always felt his heart leap when he saw his name on his Caller ID. The few times that they had managed to meet in real life (Gilbert's job and Matthew's current project in restoring his new house kept them both rather busy, though they were always sure to sign in almost every night. They usually stayed up until rather late at night, talking about whatever caught their fancy.

Matthew was rather sure that he was infatuated with the albino German.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Matthew had noticed Alfred's increased amounts of time spent outside. While his twin had never been adverse to staying outside, he usually stuck around the house after dinner time and played video games (how he could keep up a physique like the one he had with the long hours spent playing Halo and Destroy All Humans, Matthew had no clue). Lately, however, he had taken to going outside and doting on the rose bushes in their back yard. Those things seemed to mean a lot more than a summer project to him.

Matthew had noticed a few other changes in his brother, though they were hard to place at first. He'd always been the constantly-smiling type of person, but now, it had died down from the slightly obnoxious but entirely Alfred smile to a softer, gentler one that was still present, but less noticeable. He'd started to take pleasure in simply walking around outside, or spending long hours in his room, either reading (a hobby which his twin had never really enjoyed, to be honest) or sleeping. Alfred had spend a lot of time sleeping lately, actually. And while it didn't particularly worry Matthew, it was still enough to notice.

Matthew's thoughts about his twin flew out the window as soon as a battered four-door pulled into the driveway; the off-blue paint was peeling slightly, there were a few dents from run-ins in the local high school parking lot, and the liscence proclaimed its owner the "AWESUM1". The now-familiar albino exited the car after killing the engine, walking up to the front door. Matthew was already down on the bottom floor when he reached the front door, having nearly sprinted down from his room on the second floor.

The blonde opened the door, and was greeted with an enthusiastic slap on the back, along with the characteristic German greeting. Matthew smiled slightly. "So, Gil, what did you have planned for today?"

"I was thinkin' we could go get some coffee or something… Maybe just drive around. You haven't really been around town. I thought it'd be kinda cool to show you around. After all, that's what awesome people do, right?" Gilbert smiled that crooked smile that Matthew had come to adore, and the blonde teenager felt his heart flip-flop in his chest. The way his mouth quirked up at the corner, showing only a hint of pearly white teeth—just a simple action was enough to make Matthew's knees feel like jelly.

God, he was a mess… Falling for someone so fast was beyond him, and far from usual. But Gilbert just seemed to perfect him, to complete him. While he'd never voice the opinion to Gilbert, he thought of the other boy as his other half.

"Coffee sounds nice," Matthew replied quietly. With that, the two teenagers clambered into the "Awesomemobile", and Gilbert started it up with a curse as the engine at first refused to turn over, but finally agreed with an irritated groan.

~*~*~*USUK~*~*~*~

"Who are those two?" Matthew asked, glancing over at the corner of the coffee shop. Two Asian boys were conversing, sometimes gesturing over to Matthew and Gilbert in a none-too-secretive fashion.

"Oh… That's Yao. And the other's Kiku. They're classmates of mine at the high school," Gilbert stated off-handedly, shrugging and taking another sip of his flavored coffee with too long of a name for Matthew to truly remember. Peppermint something.

"Why are they staring at us?"

"Who knows with those two? Kiku's always been kind of weird… Quiet type, never says anything unless he's expected to. And Yao… Yao's just… Yao. There's no way to describe him." Gilbert chuckled. "Either way, it kind of makes sense that those two would find each other… They're inseperatable." The albino glanced over at the two. Kiku seemed to be struggling with something, his cheeks turning an interesting shade of pink as Yao continued to press something into his partner. "They don't always act like it, but they really like each other."

"Like each other?"

"Yeah. They've been going out since… I dunno… forever, I guess. Yao got really upset last year when some foreign exchange students from Greece and Turkey started fighting over Kiku… Though it was hilarious, since Kiku only saw either of them as friends… I dunno, I guess it depends. But those two… if you were to ask them, they'd just say that they were meant to be together. It's kind of cheesy, but with the way they look at each other, you can't help but believe 'em."

"Do you believe in that?" Matthew asked, gazing up at the ceiling, a light pink blush managing to snake its way across his face.

"Believe in what?"

"In being made for each other… You know. Love at first sight, soul mates… All that stuff."

When Gilbert didn't reply right away, Matthew looked down, and was greeted by a vibrantly blushing Gilbert. The albino's cheeks were nearly the same color as his eyes. "Uh… well, I guess, but… I'm not sure if you'd realize it right away… I mean, there has to be someone out there for everyone, right? But you wouldn't know if they were really the right person unless you got to really know 'em…"

"…I suppose that's true," Matthew admitted. "Though… I might seem like an idiot, but I think I'm a firm believer in love at first sight…"

Gilbert chuckled, seemingly amused. "That's cute, Matt… Seems just like you. So, think you'll ever find the right girl?" Gilbert questioned, leaning forward and resting his cheek on his palm.

Matthew fell silent. It was now or never… After all, if Gilbert would ever be even a halfway decent friend, he should accept Matthew, even if he didn't agree with his sexuality. The fact that Matthew possibly-sort-of-kind-of had a crush on the other boy had nothing to do with that fact. "Actually, Gilbert… I, uhm…" The blonde cut off, wondering what he was thinking. He'd never told anyone his sexual orientation… And wasn't this the sort of thing that you should share with your family first?

"What is it, Matt? Just spit it out," Gilbert questioned, playing around with the straw stuck into his coffee in a bored manner. "Do you think you'll get a girlfriend or don't you?"

"…I don't think it'd be a girlfriend," Matthew stated, his voice hardly above a whisper.

"…What do you mean by that?"

"…I'm not… 'into' girls… i-if you know what I mean…" Matthew said quietly. "I… I'm…"

"…You're gay?" Matthew winced, but nodded minutely. There was a long pause between the two of them, and with each second that passed, Matthew's heart sunk further and further into his chest. He shouldn't have said anything; now, Gilbert probably thought he was insane, thought he was an idiot, and—

"Well, that's a relief," Gilbert laughed.

Matthew looked up in surprise, violet-blue eyes blinking in confusion, a hint of fear hiding in the depths. "What do you mean by that?" the quiet boy asked, feeling himself shrink a little.

"It would be kinda awkward if I asked you to go steady with me if you weren't," Gilbert responded, shrugging. Matthew's eyes widened, and he gaped like a fish out of water. "…Yeah, I know. I don't look like the type to like guys, but actually, I'm not, really… I've always liked girls before, but… There's something about you. It's weird. I can't name it, but…" The albino smiled nervously. "I don't know. You're just… special, Matt. So… what about it?"

Matthew had steadily been getting redder and redder throughout Gilbert's entire "speech", and turned another shade darker at the final question. "…Yes," he murmured quietly. Gilbert seemed to light up, and reached a pale hand across the table, taking Matthew's hand in his. Matthew managed a small, slightly weak smile.

"Excuse me?" Matthew looked up, blinking. A short, thin boy was looking down at him with a polite smile. "My name is Kiku; though I assume Gilbert has already told you as much?" he questioned. When Gilbert nodded in affirmation, he continued. "I would like to ask if you would mind joining me and Yao for a moment?"

"Oh, you got lucky, Mattie," Gilbert stated, his trademark smirk-smile combination coming to his face. "Yao must like you. He doesn't do readings for everyone."

"Readings?"

"Tea leaves… He only does it for people he thinks are special, who have something others don't." Gilbert shrugged. "Or, at least, that's what he tells people, if they ask him to do it at school. In any case, it's creepy… Everything he says is always true, and all he says does come true."

"…All right," Matthew agreed. He didn't believe for a second that there would ever really be anything to this "tea reading"—after all, it was just soggy tea leaves at the bottom of a cup. Kiku led him over to the table Yao was still sitting at. Yao promptly poured him a cup, folding his hands in front of him in a relaxed manner.

It didn't take long for Matthew to drink the tea (the bitterness of the blend wasn't exactly pleasant, so he made sure to drink it quickly, so as to get it over with). Yao turned the cup towards him, and stated in a pleasant, though heavily accented voice: "What do you see in the shapes?"

Matthew looked into the strange squiggles and blobs left behind in the tea. He paused, trying to fall back into the childish game of seeing shapes in clouds; it seemed to be easier to do that than to find them in the soggy brown-green mess in the bottom of his cup. "Uhm…. A chain… a ladder…? That could be a chair…" He stared at the remaining blob, which looked something like a double-tiered cake… or something. It didn't look like much of anything, to be honest. But he'd go with the cake idea. "A wedding cake."

"A chain… marriage. A wedding cake – a marriage that will be prosperous and fast-approaching… The ladder—upcoming travel. And a chair, wasn't it? A new addition to the family," Yao stated. He smiled slightly, looking at Matthew with gentle brown eyes. "…I can see something strong about you," he said softly. "…Matthew, wasn't it? A brother to Alfred?"

"Oh, you've met Alfred?"

"I've spoken to him, yes," the Chinese man replied. Kiku looked over at him, mouthing something Matthew couldn't make out.

"Mattie, what'd the magic-man tell ya?" Gilbert called, a snicker on his lips. Matthew could tell just from the tone.

Matthew turned around, intent on telling the albino off, but stopped. He'd never told either of the two his name—how had Yao been able to know it? He turned to ask, but already, Kiku and Yao were gone, leaving behind only a few dollars as a tip for the workers and two empty chairs.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

The happenings in the coffee shop were what had landed Matthew in his current position, astride Gilbert's lap; they'd both been all too happy that the other seemed to return the growing affection between them. What had started out as Matthew and Gilbert simply sitting next to each other had somehow turned into an impromptu makeout session; Matthew had originally intended to show Gilbert the reading journal he'd found, and ask for his personal opinion on it. That idea had been thrown out the window as soon as Gilbert had leaned over and pressed the first, tentative kiss to his lips.

But then, of course, Alfred had to walk in… Really, Matthew wondered. Could his life get any worse? Of all the people to walk in on him while in a position like this, it had to be his brother. He must have looked rather panicked, because Gilbert looked up at him with worry.

"…Er… Mattie…? Is there something you… uh… want to tell me…?"

Matthew's cheeks flushed darker. "We… it… that's…" He hid his face into his hands in embarassment. He should have known today was too good to be true.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

**Rime of the Ancient Mariner – a gothic horror poem by the English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, telling the tale of a Mariner (a sailor, essentially) who finds himself cursed after killing an albatross (the albatross was seen as an omen of good luck to seagoers). After his initial "murder" of the bird, things seem to just go to hell in a handbasket for this poor guy, and everyone on board his ship dies a horrible death of thirst… Except for him. The corpses are then reanimated by some supernatural force (presumably angels), and he is brought back home to England, and then must recall his tale to people to keep them from making the same foolish mistakes he did.**


End file.
